


Curses

by Maloreiy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses, F/M, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Imprisonment, Mildly Dubious Consent, S&R:CRW, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maloreiy/pseuds/Maloreiy
Summary: The Head Boy and the Head Girl have been captured! Stolen right out of Hogwarts and hit with an unknown curse, the two find themselves in a very small cell, very much alone, and with very unusual effects from the curse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant to be a PWP type piece, this turned into mostly smut, followed by a thin plot, and ending with fluff. The first chapter contains what might be considered the mildly dubious consent.

 

“Are you sure you did it right?” a thin voice asked in the semi-darkness.

“Of course!” the big, burly one scoffed. “I did it just like I was showed. You think my wandwork isn’t as good as yours?”

“Look, just throw them in there and shut the door!” The sound of a thick metal door clanging shut echoed in the dank hall they were standing in, the movement causing the small torchlight to flicker briefly.

The two henchmen looked at each other, unsure if their job was really over. Abducting the Head Boy and Head Girl had gone off without a hitch and it didn’t set right with them that it should be so easy.

“Should we keep an eye on them in case they try to escape?” The big one looked unsurely at the door they’d just shut.

After taking a moment to think it over, the smaller man answered, “They’ll get rescued soon enough. That’s the whole point after all.” When the other man nodded at him, he added, “In the meantime, the curse should do its job and hopefully Malfoy will lose control and kill the Mudblood. Then we’d be rid of both of them.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Well, maybe she’ll kill him instead.” The low huffing sound made it clear he thought his remark highly amusing.

After a moment, the big man chuckled, “Yeah, maybe.”

**xoxoxo**

It was obvious that she was uncomfortable. She’d been irritable before, but her temper seemed to be getting worse with every hour that passed with no word from their captors. They’d woken up in a small, pitch-black room, with only a couple of cots on opposite ends. They’d discovered a light of some sort that glowed enough to brighten the room when you touched it, but then shut off when you touched it again.

After thoroughly exploring their tiny cell, and determining with as much bickering and insulting as possible that they currently had no feasible way out, they had finally settled down to wait. Wait for rescue or wait for a plan, but mostly just sitting waiting for nothing. And in Hermione’s case, sitting and getting more and more irritable.

For an instant, Draco thought he glimpsed something closer to panic, but she avoided looking at him and the set of her shoulders only told him that she was upset.

After the silence had stretched on for a while, he finally gave in to the desire to hear sounds other than her angry breathing and he asked, “Any idea yet of what they hit you with?”

The deep, ragged breaths she’d been taking stopped, almost like she was holding her breath. From her perch on her cot across the room she still didn’t look at him, but she quietly answered, “Yes.”

That got his attention and he sat up straight. “Well, why didn’t you say anything before?” That was the type of thing you’d think she would have shared immediately. When she didn’t respond to his question, he followed it with another one. “So what is it? What symptoms do you have?”

“Draco,” she said, through gritted teeth, “it’s private, and it’s not really any of your business.”

That was possibly the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard her say, and he’d been in school with her for seven years now, not to mention being Heads together for several months. So he was pretty sure he was an expert.

“Not any of my business!” he exploded. “That’s real nice. Do you think I’m just sitting in here for the pleasure of your company? I’m a victim, too. What happened to all that nonsense you and Potter have about working together and saving the world and all that? You’re just going to hoard important information to yourself during a time like this?”

She turned to him, an angry flash to her eyes. “No. But there’s nothing you can do about it and I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned back to facing her wall, her curls bouncing like an emphatic exclamation point to her sentence.

In the tense silence that followed, Draco felt some of his own anger and frustration building. It had been a while since he had felt this way, but all the old feelings and insecurities rushed out again. “It’s because you don’t think my opinion is worth anything. You’ve always felt that way, and despite everything I’ve tried to do you still persist in believing I’m the same child I was. You think I don’t matter.” He meant to say that last bit angrily, but it came out with more hurt and bitterness than he would have cared to show her.

He saw her raise a hand to her forehead, like she was staving off a headache. But when she finally looked at him, her voice and her expression were softer. “Draco, you know that’s not true. I’ve seen—we’ve all seen—the changes you’ve made. This, today, has nothing to do with then. I just,” and she paused, uncertain, “don’t want to talk about it.”

Confused and only slightly mollified, he asked, “Why not? You always want to talk about everything else. I figured you’d be the first of us to dissect every symptom and analyze every possibility.”

She was facing the wall again so all he saw was her hair quivering when she said so quietly he almost didn’t hear, “It’s embarrassing.”

He snorted. “You embarrass yourself every day.” He waved his hand in the air, as if eager to answer a question in class. “Oh, professor, I know the answer!” She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew that she was aware of what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time, after all, that he’d ribbed her for those actions. “And you don’t seem to have a problem with that. Surely this can’t be all that much worse.”

Drolly, she rolled her eyes over to him, a clear sign that she did not find his antics amusing. But perhaps they broke her out of her shell because she said, “It’s not the same, Draco. This is just too embarrassing.”

Recognizing that he was getting to her and not having anything else to occupy his time, he set to work to really wear her down. “Okay, well how about some of the isolated symptoms. Are you in any pain? Do you have a fever? Has anything turned green? Have you grown any extra heads? It’s hard for me to tell if all that hair is covering more than one, you see.”

It was working. She was glaring at him, but more in annoyance than in anger. She huffed. “Fine.” Knowing when he was ahead, Draco kept quiet until she volunteered more information. “I imagine my temperature must be up, because I’ve been feeling hot—well, quite warm—for the last few hours.”

That could be anything. Draco knew that she knew that, so he didn’t bother commenting on it, waiting for the real symptoms.

“My heart rate is elevated,” she continued, “making it seem a little harder to breathe.” She glanced at him briefly and he nodded encouragingly.

“My senses seem heightened.” She hesitated. “Particularly the sense of smell, and touch.”

Well, that was kind of weird. Draco set his mind to puzzling over what that could mean and what the consequences of a spell like that would be.

“I imagine my eyes are dilated—”

“How would you know that?” Draco interrupted. “It’s not like you have a mirror or a window to look into.”

Hermione just sighed. “I just know.” Then she startled as she saw him getting up to walk over to her side of the room. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking your eyes, of course. To see if you’re right.” He was already on her side of the small space and she hunched up against the wall.

“I didn’t say you could come over here!” Her panicked voice caused Draco to stop in the act of sitting on her cot.

He raised his hands where she could see them and slowly deposited himself on the edge of her cot. Confused, he said, “I’m just going to check your eyes and see if they are, in fact, dilated. Then we can confirm the symptom and continue with the analysis.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “You know it has to be done. It’s not like I have to scoop your eyes out of your head in order to check.”

She glared at him again, irritated at her own unreasonableness. This time when he reached out to turn her head his direction, she allowed him to do it. He felt a pang that she was so unwilling to have him touch her at all, but he swept the feeling aside as he tilted her head up towards the single light in the middle of the room. She blinked rapidly at the brightness of even that dim light.

Yup, sure enough, her eyes were so dark they were almost black. “Dilation confirmed.” He took an extra moment to admire the bright flush across her cheeks and then added, “And you’re right about the temperature, you feel like you’re burning up.”

She pulled her face out of his hands, and said, “That’s all.”

Skeptically, he asked, “Really? That’s what embarrassed you so much? You have a fever and big eyes?”

She didn’t answer, but since he was still sitting on her cot, she shifted her position, trying to move even closer to the wall and away from him. Since the cot was so small, she didn’t get very far, pulling her knees up close to her body. But the shift did change something.

It took Draco a minute to recognize it. Then he sniffed at the air, just to be sure, his eyes darting to hers suspiciously. Her face looked panicked and she looked down at the thin blanket in her lap.

“Hermione?” he called to her, very deliberately.

It took her a moment to answer, and he could see her pulse jumping in her throat. “What?”

“Hermione,” he repeated her name. “Why do you smell like sex?”

She whimpered and buried her face in her arms, her hair covering her almost completely. “Go back to your side, Draco!” she yelled at him, her voice only slightly muffled through her hair, and this time the panic in her tone convinced him to move back.

Sitting back on his own cot, his back to the wall, watching her, he started to laugh. It was quiet at first but then it got loud enough for her to hear, and she hugged her knees closer to herself.

“Stop laughing! It’s not funny.”

But that made Draco laugh even harder. “Of course, it’s funny. We get hit by unknown spells, and I think you’re going to die before we get rescued! But all you are is a bit horny.”

“Draco,” she chastised him, uncomfortable with his assessment of the situation.

“No, really,” he pointed out, “you could be bleeding out of your eyeballs, but instead your pupils are just big. You could be writhing in pain, and instead—” but he got cut off by the small pillow that was thrown at his head. He caught it before it bounced off and hit the floor, grinning at her.

“Don’t finish that thought!” she warned. “And I _am_ in pain.”

He just kept grinning, feeling decidedly pleased that she wasn’t going to die and also finding her discomfort amusing.

Peevishly, she added, her arms crossed, “And it’s more than a ‘bit horny,’ as you so crudely put it. Wouldn’t be much of a spell if that was all.”

Well, shit. That wiped the grin off of his face as his libido finally woke up and realized that he was trapped alone in a room for an indefinite period of time with a woman who was ‘more than a bit horny.’ His eyes started to cross as some of his more adventurous fantasies briefly flitted through his mind. He suddenly understood her panic and firmly shut the door to those errant thoughts.

Thinking to reassure her, he casually said, “Welcome to the land of teenage boys everywhere. Just take care of it yourself.” When this suggestion was met with silence, he added, “I can face the wall if you want. No big deal.” Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they weren’t true. Even if he was facing the wall, knowing Hermione Granger was horny and ‘taking care of herself’ while he faced the wall not ten feet away was definitely a big deal.

Come to think of it, before very long, she might have to face the wall while he took care of himself, too. Or, they could always….no. Shut door.

“It’s not that easy, Malfoy.” She must have been really exasperated to go back to calling him by his last name. It had been ‘Draco’ for quite a while now.

He grinned at her again. “Actually, take it from me, it’s pretty much exactly that easy.”

When she didn’t move to continue the conversation, he asked, “So are there any other symptoms you haven’t told me about? Or was that it?”

She shook her head. “That’s basically it. The other symptoms are…pretty much in line with that.”

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant by that. Like, were her nipples…? And what about her….?

Seeing the questioning look, she rolled her eyes, “Yes, Draco. Can you not be a child about this?”

He highly doubted a child could possibly sport the enormous erection that he currently had, imagining Hermione helplessly caught in sexual arousal, her body begging to be touched, rubbed, caressed, squeezed, licked…

“Well,” and he had to clear his voice, realizing it was coming out sounding strained, “what are you going to do about it, then?”

She just shrugged unhappily. “I’ve been doing okay ignoring it, I think. Until you interrupted my concentration.” And Draco’s mind gleefully went to all the images he could be concentrating on. “I guess I’ll just wait it out. Once we’re rescued, someone can reverse it.”

She didn’t seem all that convinced by her own words, but he didn’t have anything better to add so he let the conversation end there.

Keeping in mind what she said about concentrating, he let her lapse into her silence, staring at the wall. But listening to her heavy breathing as she tried to ignore her body just made him that much more aware of that same body and how ten feet of distance was really not all that far away from his own.

He decided to distract himself by running through his lessons of wandless magic. He might as well try and see if he could find a way out of there, or a way to reach someone who could help.

He was doing quite well mentally practicing his wandless magic, though he had no successful results other than Vanishing a speck of dust from his cot, when he heard what sounded like crying. He opened his eyes to see Hermione was laying on her cot now, facing the wall, but there were soft sniffling sounds coming from her.

“Hermione?” he called out, tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“No,” was the response, sounding thick with tears.

“What happened?”

There was no answer. But she must have known he was still waiting because she finally said, “It’s like pain. Only it…it seems to be getting worse.”

Relieved, again, that it wasn’t something more serious, he said, “Merlin, Hermione, just take care of it.”

“I already tried!” she shot back. Then, embarrassed, she said, “I just—I can’t. I’ve never—I can’t do it.”

Irritated at her and feeling frustrated with his own body, he said, “Fine, come here.”

“What? No!” she sat up in a panic, scrambling back into the corner. Realizing she wasn’t going to come to him and not wanting to think too long about what he was about to do, he walked over to her. She was shaking her head, the tears forgotten in her eyes, as he grabbed her hands and yanked her up onto her feet.

“Draco, what are you doing? I don’t think you should touch me! This isn’t a good idea!” The words were falling from her lips so fast he could barely make them out. But he wasn’t paying attention to the words. He was watching how her tongue came out to lick her lips. How her eyes were still dilated, the flush across her cheeks and her neck bright across her collarbone. She was shaking. The skin of her arms under his hands was searing hot.

She smelled of need and desire and it was like a thick cloud enveloping him; he couldn’t have stopped himself now if he wanted to. He tried to remind himself that he was doing it for her but his heartbeat throbbing in his pants made it seem like a lie.

Pulling her against him, she was off-balance when he slipped his hand down the front of her trousers. He had only a moment to register that her knickers were made of lace, the texture soft against his fingers, when he was blown away by how wet she was. Merlin, she was all sticky, and his mouth watered, imagining she was also sweet as honey.

He didn’t waste any time. He pushed the lace aside, and plunged one long finger into her wet heat. She was satiny smooth, welcoming, and so tight, and so hot. Her hands that had been pushing at his chest in protest suddenly clenched tightly in the fabric of his shirt. They both moaned, and he quickly added another finger while she went lax in his arms. He braced her against himself with the one arm, while the two fingers worked furiously in and out of her.

Her hands stayed twisted in his shirt, her face buried against his shoulder. The panting from her hot breath was dampening his skin, and he could feel her moans and whimpers vibrating against his chest. The rippling of her muscles around his fingers told him that she was very, very close. He curled his fingers inside of her, his palm cupping her mound and putting pressure against her sensitive, swollen bud with every stroke. He was rewarded when he felt her clamp around him, the slippery wetness dripping all around his fingers and into his hand. Her voice was hoarse and unbearably sexy as it cried out in pleasure, and the sound of her orgasm made his belly clench with lust and pride.

He continued stroking while she shuddered in his arms, until he felt her relax her grip on his shirt. And then he asked, his voice unable to go above a whisper, “Better?” He felt her nod against him, and she slowly pushed herself away while he took his hand out of her pants. She met his eyes only briefly and he was pleased to see that they were heavy with satisfaction, if also cloudy with embarrassment. She gingerly sat on her cot, and Draco was left standing, staring at her, and wondering if he could ask her to face the wall so he could wrap his hand that was still dripping with her juices around his painfully erect cock.

Deciding that wasn’t really a possibility, he contemplated taking a taste while she wasn’t looking. But that just seemed wrong, so he wandless magicked the mess away, pleased to see the basic spell worked on more than just a speck of dust, the previous extent of his wandless magic ability.

“Hermione,” he began, but she quickly stopped him.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Draco.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them again. “Not—not right now, okay? Just—give me a little time.” Her voice was thick with tears again.

He felt the need to pressure her for more answers but reined it in. They weren’t going anywhere, he could wait until she got herself back together.

Only once she was back on her side, settled onto her bed facing the wall again, he heard her start sobbing into her pillow. The misery that floated to his side of the room caused his stomach to pitch. Was she upset with him? He felt his own face blanching as he wondered if she felt violated. Violated by him. The thought made his stomach roil and effectively quenched any desire that was in his body.

“Hermione?” he asked again. He could see her shake her head at him. She still wasn’t ready. But he was uncharacteristically about to panic and needed to see her face. So he crossed the room again, kneeling beside her, and touched her shoulders. “Hermione, can you look at me?” He had to know, so he shook her. “I need you to look at me.”

Perhaps it was the edge in his voice revealing the urgency, but she turned a little to look up at him. The tears were blurring her eyes, her face wet and blotchy from the crying, but they met his grey ones unerringly. The look he saw there of shame and despair wrenched something deep inside him that he didn’t even know existed.

He brought his hands up to her face and wiped the tears away. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt an undeniable urge to soothe. In silence, and with gentle fingers in her hair, he used his thumbs to wipe the tracks of tears from her cheeks. “Hermione,” he whispered to her, “you’re going to be okay. We’re okay. Don’t cry.”

He recited the same words to her, repeatedly, while he lowered his forehead to touch hers, and he stayed like that even long after her tears had stopped.

“Draco,” she finally croaked. “I’m okay now.” Her hands on his wrists were gentle, as they slowly pushed him away, and he sat back on his heels, only just now realizing his legs had fallen asleep.

“I was afraid,” he started. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to finish, and just shook off the rest of the words, scooting backwards on the floor back to his side of the room.

“I was overreacting,” she said, carefully. “It just—I just—felt wrong.”

With a neutral expression on his face, he finished for her, “Because I forced you, when you weren’t ready.”

She shook her head violently at that. “No, it’s not—I mean, yes.” But at the stricken look on his face, she corrected herself, “Not like that.” She held up her arms helplessly, like she couldn’t find the words to explain. “I had hoped—I had wanted—I always thought,” and she closed her eyes, struggling with her words. “I’d meant to wait for something real. If not quite love, at least real affection. Warmth. Intimacy.” The tears started to leak from her eyes again, slowly and quietly this time. “They took that from me.”

Draco couldn’t bear to look at her and so he turned to face one of the walls. But she continued, “Not you, Draco, it wasn’t you. I just mean they made it so that I—so that we—didn’t have any choices.”

There was only silence from Draco. Hermione wiped her eyes with the edge of her blanket. Her voice shook as she added, “But thank you. For…helping.”

For several minutes, they just sat in silence, Hermione breathing in a forced meditative rhythm while she twisted her blanket around her fingers. Draco was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, tracing the pattern of the wood grain with his eyes. They each contemplated the unusual situation they were in and the maelstrom of emotions that seemed to be beating in their chests.

It was Draco who broke the stillness first. He stretched out his long legs and stared up at Hermione for a long moment. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see the determination that crossed his face as he got up and walked to her side of the room again.

She felt when he sat down beside her, not just the dip in the bed frame from his weight, but the electric jolt in her body from his closeness. Her eyes opened to find his face very close to hers.

“We have choices,” he said, right before he lowered his mouth to hers. As kisses went, it wasn’t spectacular, and not even terribly romantic. But it was unexpected and Hermione was not prepared for her own response. The wretched curse reacted predictably in her body to the wonderful feeling of a male body close to hers. But it was the quiver in her heart as his lips moved softly against hers that brought the prick of tears back to her eyelids.

When he pulled back, his finger under her chin keeping her eyes on him, he saw the sheen of tears again. “I can give you warmth. Affection.” His eyes were serious, the silver bright with intensity of emotion. “They don’t have to take that away from you. Whatever you do—whatever we do—it doesn’t have to be cold or soulless. What’s between us is between us.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, his fingers still lightly on her face. This time he coaxed her mouth to open, and when it did, he softly slid his tongue in. Hermione was all sparks and lights as she melted into his kiss, which somehow seemed to soothe the ragged areas of her heart. She didn’t realize her hands had crept up his chest again and were folding themselves into his shirt, until he broke the kiss, and gently put her hands away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to get you worked up again.” His fingers traced along her cheekbone, his eyes searching hers for something. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he leaned back against the wall, and put one arm around her, pulling her in close to his side. “You should sleep while you can.” With his other hand, he cuddled her head up against his shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Surprised, and exhausted, she followed his lead, and rested up against him. The smell of him was delicious, and she was momentarily distracted by the feel of his arms wrapped around her. But the need had been disbursed, probably temporarily, and would likely take some time to build again. So she pushed aside the sensory distractions and willed herself to take some solace in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)


	2. Chapter 2

It was an indeterminate amount of time later in that dimly lit room and Draco had long stopped caring about the pins and needles in his arm, when he felt Hermione stirring. At first he thought she was waking up, but the slight whimpering sounds she was making seemed more akin to bad dreams. Make that good dreams, he silently amended, as she turned into him and began to rub her face against his chest.

It didn’t require being hit by a curse for his body to instantly grow hot and tingly. Uncertain whether he should make sure she was all the way awake or let her continue with her actions, he softly called her name, “Hermione?”

“Mmmm,” was all the response he got, her body sinuously arching at the sound of his voice.

“Hermione?” he called louder, the hitch in his voice the only giveaway that something was out of the ordinary.

“Mmmm,” she responded again. She nuzzled him and let out a sigh. Then she was still and Draco thought she may have gone back to sleep.

But a few moments later, she was moving again. It took him a little time to get his brain working to figure out that she seemed to be trying to pull herself into his lap.

“Hermione,” he said. “Love, you should probably wake all the way up now.” His voice was taking on a bit of a panicked tone, as he wasn’t sure how well he could restrain himself if she kept going the course she was going.

“Hmmm?” she hummed, her arms snaking around his neck, finally getting one leg to drape over his other side.

As she straddled him on the bed, and he felt the weight of her pressed up against him, he breathed, “Merlin,” into her neck, causing her to tremble lightly in his arms.

She opened her eyes, looking straight into his, and with her sudden awareness he easily read the fear and uncertainty in them.

“It’s okay,” he said, automatically, his arms wrapping comfortingly around her body. “You’re okay.” The weight of his arms caused her to rest more heavily against him and he winced, briefly, as his body tried to insist on finding a different kind of comfort.

She gave him an uncertain, shaky smile. “Well, you definitely qualify for the warmth aspect.”

He smiled ruefully at her, more than aware of his spiking temperatures. “If by warmth, you mean burning like a furnace, then yes.”

She laughed. Just a small laugh, but the first he’d heard since being captured. The shaking of her body caused her to rock painfully against the erection he was not taking any pains to hide. At the look on his face, she asked him, “Do you feel the curse, too?”

He wondered if he said that he did she would feel more comfortable. The thought crossed his mind that if he said so, they could easily excuse both their actions later. But while he couldn’t deny he was very much aroused, he also couldn’t blame it on an unknown curse. He knew without a doubt he would react the same, curse or no curse. So he shook his head and said, “No, only you.”

Something in his words set her shaking again. She closed her eyes, briefly, and when she opened them again, he read a powerful need in them that resonated throughout him. She licked her lips, nervous, and his eyes followed the motion of her tongue.

“Draco,” she began, “could you—do you think,” and she paused to lick her lips again. “Could you kiss me? Please?” She looked so vulnerable, as if he would—as if he could—deny her.

He just grinned at her and then said, “Sure, where?”

And when she gaped at him, confused, he laughingly pulled her to him, his mouth finding hers unerringly. But this wasn’t like the first time. It wasn’t soft and sweet, it was voracious. The smell and feel of her had seemed to climb under his skin as she’d lain against him and he sought relief for the tightening in his chest. Her mouth was feverish, shy and unsure, but determined and relentless in its pursuit of something she couldn’t seem to find.

Her fingers climbed into his hair, holding her head to him, and he took this as explicit permission to devour her. Of their own accord, his hands slipped under her shirt, gripping at her hips, unconsciously angling her body to fit the smoothest against his. With his teeth and his lips, he did his best to convince her that what seemed to burn between them was real, very real. So real, he rather thought it was going to consume him from the inside out.

Breaking from her lips, he spoke against her mouth as he nibbled at her. “What do you need, Hermione?”

And she whispered to him, “More. Just…more.”

So he gave it to her. With his hands against her back, he tilted her backwards until she was lying on the bed, and he kissed his way down the column of her neck, reveling in the feel of her arching against him. When he settled himself on top of her, his legs intertwined with hers, she brought her leg up to cradle him, rocking until he was settled against her wet heat. Her head thrown back against the pillow, he could hear her labored breathing. He pressed his body into hers as he licked and laved at the sensitive spot on her neck.

He had just dragged his teeth across the top of her shoulder when he felt her shudder beneath him, a low moan coming from the back of her throat. Surprised, he looked at her, and said, “Really? Done already?”

Her eyes were cloudy as she looked up at him, her chest still heaving from her heavy breathing. “Yes. No. I don’t know?”

Rolling his hips up against hers, eliciting another moan from her, he said, “I think I’m going to call myself the Slytherin Sex God.” He took her mouth in another fierce kiss, and then added, “Capable of making a woman orgasm with just a kiss.”

“Hmm,” was the only comment from Hermione.

In a more serious tone of voice, he asked her, “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide and clear as they gazed back into his. “Yes,” she affirmed. “Just feeling…kind of wound up.”

He nodded slowly, still comfortably resting on top of her, one hand on her waist, his fingers hovering above the waistband of her pants. “Did you—Do you want me to unwind you?”

She looked into his eyes and the hesitation seemed long before she gave the barest of nods. Rolling himself to the side, but not disentangling from her, he gently caressed the skin of her belly, his fingertips dipping into her waistband.

She closed her eyes tightly shut and he felt her skin quivering underneath him. He paused, and softly told her, “Hermione, open your eyes.” With some effort, she did, and looked up into his face. His thumb continued rubbing over her smooth skin while his fingers started to move further down into her pants. He knew she wanted to avoid looking at him, but he couldn’t give her what she wanted if she wouldn’t connect with him.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered to her, his lips hovering over her flushed cheek. His fingers reached their destination, but instead of pushing aside the thin fabric covering her, he stroked her over it with just the tip of one finger, eliciting a gasp from her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused at his actions. He grinned down at her as she unconsciously tried to push herself closer to his hand. He put his palm heavily on her pelvis to keep it from rocking too much and he teased her with just that one finger.

“D-Draco?” she questioned, breathily, her legs shaking with the desire to move.

“Yes, my Hermione?” he teased her. “Did you want something?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She just helplessly strained against his hand.

He leaned down to suck at her bottom lip, his fingers still stroking her, and asked, “Did you want more?” This time she nodded vigorously, her throat swallowing against the need that seemed to be growing with every flick of his fingers.

As she eagerly reached up to connect their mouths again, he rubbed his fingers against her bare skin and thrust two of them deep inside. She bucked against his hand, the low moan vibrating through their kiss, and the slow, teasing pace he had set devolved into something quick and wild. Unlike the first time, she wasn’t a passive partaker. Her lips and her teeth nipped at him and her body rolled and rocked trying to get satisfaction from the movement of his fingers.

He liked this Hermione. It was the one he knew best. Fiery, bold, challenging, unafraid. He felt a swell of pride that he was seeing a passion that no one had ever seen before. Well, it might have been pride. It might also be a swell of lust. Honestly, it was probably both, as having her pressed up closely against him, and feeling the slick wetness of her between and around his fingers, was sending him into a realm of desire he didn’t think it was even possible to reach.

She broke away from his kiss for a moment and gasped out, “Draco, you have two hands, right?”

He gave a low laugh, painfully, at the non sequitur, his fingers stilling briefly in her warmth. Was she saying one hand wasn’t enough?

But with the one arm that he wasn’t laying on, he saw her picking unsuccessfully at the buttons on her blouse. “I’m just so hot,” she complained. He pushed her hand away, lifting himself up on an elbow to open her blouse, his mouth watering at the sight of her breasts being bared before him.

“Could you—with your hands,” she began, arching her back, so it was clear what she wanted. Draco rather thought he would expire on the spot as he denied her request.

“No,” he said, on an exhale, “definitely mouth.” And as she helped him unlatch the front of her bra, he immediately wrapped his mouth around the first plump globe to come free. Her response was a squeal as he suckled hard, taking one of the firm little nipples between his teeth. His fingers resumed pumping in and out of her at a rapid pace, as she moaned and gripped at his hair. He used his mouth and fingers in concert and when he felt her walls closing around him, he pressed her bucking body into the cot, his mouth still furiously at work on her beautiful breast. The moaning sounds she made almost sent him over the edge, just by listening to her.

Almost, but unfortunately for him, not quite.

She stilled beneath him, her muscles lax. The hand that had been in his hair, dropped languorously to the blanket. She made a little hum of contentment in the back of her throat.

He removed his hand, the little wandless clean-up spell put to work again. But instead of getting off of her, which was probably what she expected, he shifted and moved his mouth to her other breast.

With soft licks and kisses, he teased the little bud that was still erect, taking the time to admire its softness and its golden pink color. “It didn’t seem fair to ignore this one,” he told her, by way of explanation. “It’s just as beautiful as its sister.”

She blushed. After all that, it seemed a silly response, but she just smiled at him, and he took the opportunity to acquaint himself thoroughly with the feel and smell of that soft, plump skin on the underside of her breast.

By the time he was finished, her heartbeat and breathing had gone back down to normal, and she looked at him with a sleepy smile on her face. “You’re very good at this.”

He gave her breast a last kiss, before pulling her shirt closed, and reminded her, “Slytherin Sex God.”

She laughed, and snuggled further into her bed, and he knew she was going to be out again in a matter of minutes. A good orgasm will do that to you.

He grinned to himself at the thought, as he quietly made his way back to his bed. He would have enjoyed a nap himself, wrapped around the delectable body of Hermione Granger. But he had more pressing concerns. Specifically, the particularly hard and erect concern that was pressing against his pants.

He waited, though, until she was all the way asleep, before he touched himself. It would not be the first time he’d done so with thoughts of Hermione Granger running through his head. But it would be the first time he knew the taste and texture of her skin, the feel of her slippery desire running through his fingers, the sound of her pleasure ringing in his ears.

Playing back those memories, and with the same hand that had pleasured her body, he was finished in a moment and put that same clean-up spell to good use.

Since it looked like they would both be sleeping for the next few hours, Draco decided to turn out the one dim light in the center of the room. There were no windows, so it would be pitch dark, but it was most likely near nighttime, anyway. They’d been there for several hours, after all.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

It was some time later in the darkness that Draco woke up to the sounds of sex. His groggy brain registered the moaning and rocking sounds and his teenage body responded instantly. But as his eyes tried to focus in the blackness, he remembered that there were only two of them in this tiny room. Or there used to be, anyway.

The possibility that someone else had entered the room and was right now availing himself of the willing body of Hermione Granger had him jumping up for the light in the center of the room, incensed and ready for a fight.

But as the light clicked on, there was only a startled look from Hermione, as her eyes blinked against the sudden brightness. Her blanket was all twisted up around her, and her shirt, still unbuttoned, fell open as she raised herself up on her elbow.

“Wha? Wha’s wrong?” she asked, confused at the fierceness in Draco’s eyes, one hand reaching up to rub at the sleep still on her face.

But Draco was already calming himself. “I thought I heard—well, it was hard to see in the dark.” He didn’t need her to know what he heard. “Are you okay?”

She took stock of herself, of her shirt wide open, the nipples pebbling in the cool air; of her blanket knotted up around her. “I think so.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, knowing he hadn’t mistaken the sounds, even though he’d mistaken what they meant.

Looking up at him, she said, “Well, not when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, curious, unaware that his eyes were darkening even as he gazed at her.

“Like that,” she said, quietly. “Are you sure you don’t feel the curse, too?”

He shook his head. “Whatever the curse is doing to me, it has nothing to do with what you do to me.”

Hermione wet her lips, before speaking again. “When you say things like that, everything inside me that was already aching multiplies till I feel like that’s all that exists.”

Draco didn’t answer. He just reached up and turned the light out again. With the bright flash behind her eyes at the sudden darkness, she didn’t have time to feel disappointed before she felt the strangely familiar weight on the bed beside her. A hand, warm and firm, glided up the side of her body, and then there was a voice by her face that whispered, “Let me help you, then.”

Emboldened—either by the lack of light, or the continuously growing curse—she took that hand and as an answer, she moved it up past the blankets, and to her still open shirt, letting it rest against her aching breasts.

He ran his thumb over her nipple, pleased when she made a low moaning sound, the same sound that had woken him out of sleep. He took his other hand, and traced her form in the darkness. From her curly hair, he traced around the delicate shell of her ears. The hollow in her neck was particularly interesting, and he leaned down to run his tongue around it, as his hands moved further down her body.

Her breasts he knew and let his hands squeeze and feel the weight of them in his palms. She was leaning into his touches, aware and responsive. He sat back up, letting his hands run down her body, feeling how the blanket was tangled up around her. He tugged on the blanket, rolling her this way and that, until he could get it out of the way. His fingers skimmed by the bare skin of her waist, and he didn’t ignore the sudden impulse to press wet, open-mouthed kisses all over her belly.

He could hear her gasps and feel the tremors in her thighs. He was very close to where she wanted him to be. When he tugged at her pants, there was the slightest hesitation before she lifted her hips and let him slide them down her legs. She still had her knickers on, but he made short work of those, intent on his destination.

Her legs, free of encumbering fabrics, closed against each other, looking for contact and stimulation. But Draco was having none of it, and with gentle hands he pushed her legs open, his hands caressing the inside of her thighs, causing more moans and an arching back from Hermione.

She had to know his intention but she did not seem inclined to protest.

With a heavy, wet tongue, he pressed kisses to her lovely knee, his hand running up her leg to cup her bottom. He squeezed and pulled, dragging her closer to him, his mouth planting kisses incrementally higher up her thighs.

Her legs fought to close against him but the one hand restrained her.

She smelled very sweet and as he drew closer to her center, his mouth watered, anticipating her taste. And his cock grew hard, anticipating her pleasure.

He breathed against her most secret place and was rewarded with tremors and labored gasping sounds. He rather imagined her hands were fisted in the fabric of her bed. He wouldn’t terribly mind if they were fisted in his hair.

With his nose, he nuzzled against the curls, already soaked from the arousal that had awoken him. With a quick flick of his tongue, he took a taste and was not at all surprised to find the flavor was seducing.

He took a long, slow lick up her slit, and was distantly aware of Hermione’s groan of pleasure. She tasted amazing. And the feel of her flesh beneath his tongue was indescribable. He licked her again, feeling her hips buck against his face, looking for deeper contact.

He settled his mouth at her entrance and skimmed his hands up her backside, while he licked and laved at the little wet bundle of nerves.

When he had her settled firmly against him, his hands moved to cover her breasts, knowing how she liked the attention to them. And as he grabbed her, pulling her into his mouth, he stabbed his tongue deep inside her. She wailed, high and keening, her legs clamped around his head.

He pumped his tongue in and out, his lips moving against her sensitive skin, while his thumbs played with her nipples. She was rocking against his mouth, crying, her body arching under his hands trying to find a way to take his tongue deeper.

She moaned his name, and he lost his concentration for a moment. But then he redoubled his efforts, lifting her hips up closer to his mouth, moaning his own desires till they echoed in her womb. He was everywhere, she was lost, and with a last flick of his tongue, the darkness around her exploded with stars.

“Merlin,” she whispered, astounded, when she thought she could talk again.

She heard a low laugh in the darkness and the words, “Nope, just the Slytherin Sex God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)


	3. Chapter 3

He had just drifted off, his desire to snuggle the soft, warm, mostly-naked female form outweighing his desire to go back to his own bed and quietly take care of his…well… _desire_. Every time she moved or shifted, though, he felt spikes of lust. He was doing quite a good job of controlling himself and sleeping lightly when his brain finally woke up enough to realize that there was a hand in his pants, stroking him, and it wasn’t one of his own.

He opened his mouth to ask Hermione what she was doing, but the sensation of her thumb softly gliding up across his tip momentarily robbed him of breath to speak. Merlin, but that felt so good. He let out a soft moan, even as his hand reached out to stop her movements.

Realizing he was awake, she answered his unspoken question. “You were poking me.”

An interesting accusation, as he had not even begun to poke her, yet.

Despite his hand on her wrist, she started moving her fingers against him again. Up and down, very slowly. She was exploring him, and he lacked the ability to make her stop, even as he lacked the memory of why he had thought it important that she do so.

“I was thinking,” she continued, “that it must be very difficult for you. Even though you say you don’t feel the curse, you must be feeling something.” Her fingers tightened around him. “Or you wouldn’t have this.”

She didn’t understand that teenage boys had that pretty much all the time. Although, not usually like this. He was so hard and he could feel his member straining against her hand. He couldn’t remember when his world had centered down to one firm, clever little hand. His only answer to her observations was another moan, accompanied by a pant.

She spoke quietly against his chest, making him shiver. “It didn’t seem fair for you to help me and me not to help you, too.”

He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see him in the darkness. He was pretty sure he would do whatever she wanted at this point. Her fingers continued petting down his shaft, occasionally coming up to squeeze him lightly towards the tip.

The waistband of his own pants was limiting her movement, so he hastily pushed them down, giving her easier access.

Her hand stilled at this new development. Then it resumed its previous motions at a slightly faster pace. He moaned again, enjoying the friction. The liquid seeping out of the tip of his cock was slowly coating him and her hand began to move more slickly.

“Hmmm,” she made a little humming sound in her throat. His cock twitched in response. Then it more than twitched as he realized she was moving, and he could feel her hair draped over his belly.

He quickly reached a hand to her as he sensed her intention. “Hermione, wait, I don’t think you want to— ”

But she cut him off, curiosity and desire lacing her voice, “I think I do, actually.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he tried again, trying to keep his body from bucking up to get closer to her.

“I want to, though,” she said. “I want to understand.” And she turned his words back on him. “Did you want something, Draco? Tell me what you want.”

He could feel the breath from her mouth as she spoke the words, inching closer to where his heat and possibly all of his decision-making powers were gathered. His hand reached out, grabbing the hand that was still stroking him, and gently guiding it down till her fingers were cupping his balls. “You could—with your mouth,” he suggested. “Your tongue. Your lips.” He didn’t know why he thought Hermione Granger was going to put her mouth on him, but in this strange darkness there were things happening that he couldn’t even begin to understand. And he didn’t have the brain power to unravel it at the moment. “But not your teeth,” he added.

“I’m not an idiot,” she chided him, just as her mouth descended to take him wholly into her mouth.

The moan was low in his throat as all the breath fled out of him. He’d thought he was hot, but her mouth was hotter. His hips were wanting to buck, to pump into that wonderful heat, but he held himself back, knowing she wanted to explore.

Her tongue roamed over the underside of his shaft, lapping at the skin there. Then she began to move up and down, her lips trailing up his slickness and then gliding back down again. She very quickly figured out that she could use her lips and her tongue together. Guided by the panting sounds he was making, she increased her pressure, her hand gently stroking his balls.

She enjoyed the feel of him quivering in her mouth. Every move she made she could feel his quick response. She felt strangely powerful, triumphant. And very, very hot. The smell of him, the taste of him, the movements of his body, were all combining to bring back the desire that he had just recently dispelled with his own mouth.

His hands on her shoulders, on her hair, was the briefest of warnings she had before he erupted into her mouth, her name almost like a prayer shuddering on his lips. She didn’t think she should have enjoyed it, but the feel of his body coming undone beneath her had caused her almost as much spiraling pleasure as the feel of his mouth and his fingers inside her. She felt almost drunk with it, wild and wanton, and now desperately wanting more.

Draco was still trembling under her hands when she called out to him. It took him a moment to register that she’d spoken his name. “Hmm?” he responded, trying to catch his breath, and focus around the cloud of pleasure obstructing his thinking ability.

“Am I supposed to feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“I thought I was just going to help you. But, I think it’s making me worse.” And for a second he couldn’t grasp what she meant, but she continued, her hand caressing over his belly and his thighs. “I feel…more. I want to touch you. And feel you. And it hurts. Almost like it did before. Am I supposed to like doing that so much?”

He groaned to himself, feeling his body trying to respond to the need in her voice, despite having just come to completion. He answered her, “Only when it’s good. When what’s between you is good, you both enjoy all of it.”

She crawled back up his body, her legs rubbing against his. Without any conscious thought, his hands moved to pull her close up against him, and she responded by rocking herself against his thigh. The sensation was divine, and his hands availed themselves of the unfettered access to her willing flesh, roaming over her heated, damp skin.

Idly, he wondered, “Do you suppose this is actually helping? Could we—this—be making it worse?”

“Doesn’t feel worse,” she mumbled against his neck, trying to coax his hands to go where the ache was.

He paused, looking down at where her face was, knowing that in the darkness, she couldn’t read his expression. But somehow, even with her mostly naked body pressed up against him, the wheels in his brain were turning. “No, Hermione, think about it. It builds up, we release it, it builds up again faster. Do you think that’s what it’s supposed to do?”

There was a silence and her body stilled while she breathed heavily against his neck, trying to corral the desire that was running rampant through her. When she finally spoke, there was more amusement in her voice than he had expected. “Do I think that they want me to die of insatiable sexual hunger? And that they provided you to be my sex slave, doomed to failure?”

Merlin, it sounded preposterous. The words “sex slave” almost entirely resurrected his recovering arousal, but he was too busy feeling an overwhelming dread when she spoke the word “die.” They didn’t know who had cursed them or why, and while death didn’t seem to be their kidnappers’ preferred outcome, it still shook him to his core to think of the woman in his arms being in danger.

He held her to him tightly, unreasonable fear stiffening his body, and he felt when she recognized it, her hands coming up to his face, turning him until she could place her lips on his. The kiss she gave him was gentle, proof that whatever curse was working through her body, it wasn’t changing her essential nature. He let her comfort him, and he was relieved to feel her body settle against his, her heartbeat just a little slower, her skin a tad cooler.

He was being irrational. But it was too easy to forget that they were both under the effects of a possibly very dangerous curse, especially when he seemed to be living some of his most private fantasies. They needed to think.

With slow but firm movements, he pushed Hermione aside so that he could get up from the bed. He reached up to turn the dim light back on. The sudden brightness caused him to blink against it, and when his eyes focused, he saw Hermione staring at him. He’d forgotten he was entirely nude, and the darkness in Hermione’s eyes alarmed him.

But then she looked up at his face and smiled, shy and sweet. “You’re very pretty, you know.”

Embarrassed, he had to fight himself not to cover up immediately. He walked back to the bed, and put his pants and his shirt back on. “Don’t make me blush, Granger.”

She giggled at that. Though she didn’t comment, he knew there was already a flush across his pale skin, because he could feel it. He didn’t know why her regard suddenly made him feel self-conscious.

He settled onto his own bed, the furthest away he could get from her, although he wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘safe’ distance. The smell of the two of them was in the air, still slowly working on his body, and no doubt on hers, too.

She watched him with those dark eyes and he tried to ignore the way they flicked over his body, knowing it was just the curse that was making her hyperaware. He forced himself to think. They were the two best thinkers at Hogwarts—albeit with a slightly compromised thinking ability—they had to be able to figure out more of what their kidnappers intended.

“Granger—”

“Hermione,” she corrected, and he tried to stifle the blush that he knew would come to his pale skin as he remembered saying her name as her mouth was wrapped around his cock. He pushed on, trying to ignore that thought. He could always come back to that later. Well, he’d definitely be coming back to that later, but right now he was trying to think.

“—did we both get hit with the same curse?”

It took her a moment to take her eyes off the sliver off his chest that was still exposed from his shirt, to process the question. It was another minute while she searched her memories for the answer. “I’m not sure. I seem to remember the two men who abducted us going through the same movements, and maybe saying the same thing.”

“Any chance it was two completely unrelated curses?”

She shook her head at that, “I definitely felt like there was a similarity. Maybe it’s not the exact same curse, but they would have to be similar. You’re sure you don’t feel the curse?”

“Granger—Hermione,” he corrected himself before she could do it, “I can promise you, I’m not feeling anything right now that I haven’t felt before.”

There was a silence as those words sank in. She didn’t know what to make of the words that seemed to indicate that he’d thought of her in this way before. That he’d wanted her. All those nights they stayed up studying in their common room. Those moments she thought she might have caught him looking at her, and she’d convinced herself it was just surprise at how friendly they’d managed to become after their past history.

She felt the rising of the curse from deep inside her, an aching, pulsing feeling, as she uncharacteristically wondered if he’d had fantasies about her, and what those fantasies might have been.

“Granger!” he was saying sharply to her. “Can we focus for just a minute?”

She grinned at that, a wicked look on her face she wouldn’t have recognized, feeling a strange surge of confidence. “Okay, but only for a minute.”

He gulped, his thoughts scattered abruptly. With some effort, he brought them back together and he again asked the question that she previously hadn’t heard. “Is there a chance that you were the only one hit with the curse, and I was hit with a decoy?”

That was an interesting idea, and broke through the growing sexual haze that seemed to be surrounding her more rapidly. “But what would be the point?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Frankly, I can’t think of any good reason for them to curse you in this way at all.”

A giggle escaped Hermione as a thought crossed her mind. “Well, if they cursed us both, we’d undoubtedly have been shagging all around the room already.” She didn’t have to express the fact that they still might get there, anyway, as they both were very aware of the fact that the room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller with every hour that went by without being rescued.

Draco sighed, still trying to make some sense of what seemed like a ridiculous plan to kidnap the Heads, lock them in a room together, with one of them perpetually sexually aroused. Well, both of them, but he was entirely certain that his response had nothing to do with the curse. It was fortunate, he supposed, that it wasn’t the other way around. If he had gotten the real curse, and Hermione the fake one, she would probably not have let him anywhere near her, and then he would have spontaneously combusted. Or she would have taken a disgust of him wanking off in every corner of their cell.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” he repeated to himself. “Do they want money? Do they want information? Do they just want to embarrass us by jumping through the door while we’re naked and yelling, ‘Surprise’?”

He looked up at her, then, noticing her eyes still on him. “Shit, you’re thinking about me naked now, aren’t you?”

Hermione laughed, looking away, her face shy again. When she turned back to him, she said, softly, “Well, I barely got to see you before you got dressed again.”

“As much as I’d love to just strip everything off right now—” Draco started. He immediately regretted his words, as Hermione’s eyes went straight to black and he saw the hitch in her breathing that caused an echoing twinge in his pants. “Hermione,” he groaned at her reaction.

Her face fell. “I’m sorry. It’s just really hard to think about anything else, and when you talk it’s just worse.”

A wry smile came to his face. “When I talk?”

She blinked in surprise at what she’d just said. Then her eyes were on his mouth. “I like when you talk.”

“You like when I talk?” He didn’t know why he was repeating what she said. He also couldn’t remember why he was objecting to this line of conversation in the first place. Oh yes, that’s right. He should get this out quick before he forgot again. Before she made him forget. “Hermione, do you think maybe until we know what the curse is supposed to do that we should refrain from…acting on what the curse wants?”

“What?”

The words didn’t want to come out, but he was convinced he had to point out the obvious. “Well, they’re the bad guys, right? If they want it, then maybe…we shouldn’t want it.”

She was quiet a moment, her body still on the cot she was still perched on. Then she licked her lips, and said so quietly Draco could barely hear her, “But I do want it. You. I want you.”

He could feel all his good arguments about why they should stop now before things go too far, crumbling around him. “That’s just the curse talking, Hermione.” But it didn’t feel like a curse. It all felt real, very real, and he felt his body shaking already, knowing they were not going to stave off the inevitable.

“I don’t know what they want, Draco. I don’t know what motive they could possibly have for doing this to us.” She paused, gathering her courage. “But I know what I want. And I know what happened when I tried to deny myself. And if you want me…?” She looked at him, slightly unsure, before continuing. “I don’t see any sense denying ourselves.”

He hadn’t moved. Not even to reassure her that he did, in fact, want her. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything so much in his entire life. He was afraid that the minute he moved a single muscle, they’d be past the point of no return. And a very small voice inside of him said he didn’t want it to be like this, with her under an unknown curse that made her want whoever was closest.

Perhaps she heard the doubt that he didn’t express. She reminded him of his words from just a few hours ago. “We have choices. We make our own choices. I may have a curse on me, but I still make my own choices.”

When he still didn’t respond, other than the harsh rising and falling of his chest as he breathed heavily, she got up from her cot, and walked over to him on shaky legs. He watched her, knowing nothing in his life was ever going to be the same, and not caring at all.

She perched on the bed, her hand going up to touch his cheek. “Kiss me, Draco?” Her mouth moved closer to his, her breath soft against his lips. “Please?”

And they were together again. The feel of her against him was instantaneous. His arms had pulled her tight as his mouth moved over hers with no restraint. She moaned as her tongue played with his, reveling in the feel of his body hard against her own. It had been too long already. She was so wound up from watching him, hearing his voice, it was almost unbearable to finally feel his hands on her again.

“More,” she moaned, as he twisted her so that she lay beneath him on the bed. His hands roaming over her open shirt, his teeth nipping at her lip as he continued to devour her mouth. “More,” she whispered again, the urgency in her voice causing his already firm cock to harden even further. She sounded so sexy, he thought he could explode just from hearing her whisper in his ear like that.

Seeking to oblige her, his fingers quickly skimmed down her body, finding her core. She was definitely wet, highly aroused, and he plunged two fingers into her.

She moaned at the contact, rocking her hips into his hand, shuddering at how good it felt to have him touching her. But breathlessly, she told him, “No, I want more.”

He breathed against the dampness of her skin, trying to remind himself that she wasn’t thinking clearly because of the curse, and they had gone far enough already. He pulled back a little bit, the furthest he could make himself go. “You don’t want it this way, Hermione. We should wait.”

“I do want it. I told you, I want you.” She leaned up, pressing her body closer to his, trying to rub herself against his skin. “I can’t think for wanting to feel you against me, inside me.” She tugged at his shirt, trying to make contact with more skin, and he let her pull it off of him.

He didn’t object when she pulled on his neck lowering his mouth for a deep, searing kiss. But as she pulled away to let a fraction of air whisper between them, he asked her, one last time, “Are you sure, Hermione? Be sure. Be very sure.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, her lips trembling like feathers against his.

“What about later after we’re rescued? What about tomorrow? After that? I don’t think I could bear it if—” But she touched her fingers to his lips, her eyes looking deep into his.

“Draco,” she said, quietly, “please?” Whatever assurance he saw in her eyes finally calmed the fear in his heart. He reached down to bring her mouth to his, the feel of her lips almost as familiar as his own now. And as he kissed her, his arms wrapping around her waist, he felt her total surrender. Boneless and pliant, she let him take from the kiss all that he needed, and he marveled again at the amazing rightness of having Hermione Granger in his arms.

The kiss deepened further, her breath coming now in pants, her body trembling lightly. And suddenly he couldn’t bear to be apart from her for one more second. He couldn’t remember how the rest of their clothes were removed, but it wasn’t long before they lay naked again, skin to skin, illuminated this time by the low lighting.

He leaned back to look at her, her skin glowing golden with arousal. He ran his hands reverently down her body, causing her to arch into him. Merlin, she was everything that was good and beautiful. He could forget that they were trapped in a cell, victims of a curse, and almost thank the persons who made it possible for him to have her, even for a little while.

He lowered his lips to hers, his hands rolling her beneath him, and she moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his body settling firmly between her legs.

Perhaps he’d thought to prepare her a little better, spend more time touching and playing, but the need had already overcome them both much too quickly. She could feel his cock quivering against her thighs, and there was this incredible hunger to feel him, finally, inside of her. She lifted her legs, sliding them against the outside of his thighs, trying to climb higher up his body so she could feel that wonderful hardness in that place of her body that seemed to need him the most.

He was drowning in the feel of her. The sliding of her skin against his was making his heart beat so fast he thought he might die. Maybe they had wanted to kill him after all. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was sliding closer and closer to her heat. He could feel the tip of him quivering against her wetness.

His hands on her arse, holding her up, was also keeping her from forcing herself down onto him. He knew this would be her first time—everything had been her first time—and he needed to keep just enough presence of mind to keep from slamming into her like a careless buffoon.

But as he guided his tip to her entrance, and felt the silky sweetness begin to surround him, all his good intentions were nearly lost in the sheer overwhelming pleasure that inundated him like a tidal wave.

Merlin, she was amazing!

She moaned as he slowly moved forward. “Yes,” she said, “Oh yes, yes, yes!” She was panting, forgetting even to worry if there was supposed to be any pain. She couldn’t even conceive of pain with the bliss that was saturating her from where their bodies connected. “Fuck yes, Draco!”

The dirty word coming from her mouth shocked him, sharpening his arousal, and he was buried in her before he realized it, her hips arching to take him in. They both groaned at how good it felt.

She felt all the muscles in her body going lax, her arms falling off from around his neck as she arched back, her eyes closed, seeking something with her hips.

He rocked slightly, a tentative testing, and was rewarded with a moan. Her beautiful neck was bared to him, and he reached to attach his mouth to her creamy skin, pushing against her as he did so. The taste of her was so good. He pulled his hips back a tiny fraction before moving them forward again, the contact sending sweet pulses through his body.

He moved his mouth down her neck, back to her breasts. As his mouth latched onto one pert nipple, he moved his hips to push against her at the same time, and her hands came up to lock onto his head while she gasped with the pleasure of it.

Her breasts were so sensitive, the feel of his mouth around her, while he filled her was so good. She didn’t think anything in the world could feel that good.

But then he started moving, and she had to invent new categories for good. The feel of his cock as it slowly slid out of her was good, but the feeling as he thrust back in, jolting her body against his was _so_ good. She panted as his clever tongue continued to work against her breast, as he thrust against her.

One of his hands possessively streaked down her body to grab at her arse, angling her so he could thrust just a little deeper. She tightened her legs reflexively around his waist as he started rhythmically driving into her, not even noticing how the moans were falling from her lips.

She was incoherent with the pleasure of his body in hers. And then he was moving faster, his thrusts deeper, her heart beating in time with the rhythm of him deep inside of her. Every stroke had him hitting spots that were setting off sparks behind her eyes. She wanted to tell him how amazing he made her feel, but all she could do was gasp his name. “Draco, Draco, Draco.”

And then she said the one other thing that could break through to his sex-muddled brain. “More…”

He slammed into her, his thick member wet now with both of their juices, pulling out almost as far as he could go, and then driving into her with enough force that he’d worry their cot would fall apart if he was capable of worrying about anything at all at that moment. She just held on, her body tight against his, the satiny smooth sliding of her muscles as they gripped him causing his eyes to roll back into his head.

Over and over, he thrust into her, until he felt her begin to quiver beneath him, her hands frantic on his back, her cries getting louder and louder, nearly setting him off with how her sexy, hoarse voice was screaming his name. And when she finally clenched around him, that last thrust causing him to explode into her, his last thought before his mind shut off entirely was that he was definitely going to die, and it was so worth it.

 

**xoxoxoxoxo**

 

He didn’t die.

In fact, it wasn’t an hour later, and he was inside of her again. He ought to have waited, but they made the mistake of cuddling up together afterwards, all sticky and sweaty and smelling of sex. And before they knew it, he was inside of her, and they were moving again, and Hermione was making those sounds that were fast becoming his very most favorite sounds in the world.

Neither seemed to care that the cot wasn’t particularly comfortable. Someone, and they couldn’t remember who, might have actually mentioned that the floor would be sturdier. But they hadn’t made it that far. And Draco rather enjoyed seeing her hair fanned out across the tiny pillow, and over the edges of the bed, bouncing with each thrust of his cock.

She was moaning, biting her lip with her eyes closed, enjoying the feelings he was giving her. His cock felt pretty damned good, slipping and sliding inside of that incredible wet heat. But it was his chest that felt like it was going to explode. Seeing her, watching her, feeling her, tasting her, hearing her, was generating this heat in his chest that felt like possession but was so much stronger, and so much softer.

His world was shrinking down to just this witch under and around him, and he couldn’t get enough.

She suddenly reached for him, fusing her mouth to his as her hips arched into him, her orgasm clamping down on him, milking him as his own spurted inside her. He panted into her mouth, feeling suddenly weak, as they fell back against the bed. She licked his lips, kissing him tenderly as he lay there, and that feeling in his chest just seemed to grow.

He nibbled on her lips, his eyes closed as the sexual energy they’d just expended left them feeling drained. He didn’t seem to have the energy to roll off of her, but he couldn’t stop the movement of his lips on hers. Surely they were red already from all the snogging they’d been doing, but still they kissed.

Softly, she ran her fingers through his hair, marveling at the feel of the silky strands. Wondering how she’d ever sat next to him all those nights and never once thought to touch. Just as she’d never once wondered what his mouth tasted like. Or his skin. She needn’t wonder now. And she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget.

His lips still moving tenderly against hers, she felt his hand skimming against her ribs. She shivered, her whole body seemed sensitive to any touch. Could the result have been the same if she was thrown in here with just anyone else? She didn’t think so. Her body felt like a switch that only turned on for him. Like it was tuned to his scent, and his voice, and the tiniest of his actions set her on fire.

Like a hand skimming against her ribs.

How long they’d lain their kissing, she didn’t know. But as she pulled back, opening her eyes to look into that molten silver, she could feel that curse stirring again. She could almost worry at how insatiable her appetite was, but all she felt was the dark excitement that this lovely, strong, talented, and oh, so clever, wizard elicited in her.

“Already?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

She bit her lip, a barely-there smile on her face. “Not if you’re not ready.”

His slow grin caused twinges of anticipation inside her core. “Oh, I’m ready.”

The movement was so quick, she could barely follow it, but suddenly he was up, and she’d been flipped over onto her stomach. The sudden vulnerability of the position was somehow exciting, and she felt the curse making her body ready, _so_ , _so_ ready.

When he pulled on her hips to raise her bum into the air, she came up onto her hands and knees. She thought she understood what was coming, but when he entered her fast and deep, the shock of it, the pleasure of feeling him behind her and in her was so startling, her arms dropped her onto her elbows. “Oh, Merlin!” she gasped.

She could just hear the smirk in his voice as he corrected her, “Not Merlin. Slytherin Sex God.” And he moved just the tiniest bit to rock into her, her bare arse slapping into his stomach.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Close enough,” he agreed. He allowed his hands the luxury of wandering over her body. He was beginning to see redness where lovebites would eventually show through, and where the pressure of his hands might cause some slight bruising. He’d apologize for them later. For now he dragged his hands up to her breasts, so he could fondle them, having figured out very early on that the feel of his hands on her made her writhe with pleasure. And he rather fancied having her delectable arse writhing against him while his cock was deep inside her tight sheath.

With little warning, he started to move, thrusting hard and firmly into her, feeling her quiver with every movement, her gasping moans matching the throaty cries coming from him as he continued to pound into her, giving her exactly what she needed.

It may be the curse dictating what she was needing, but there was no doubt that she needed it. The feelings grew inside of her until they danced white-hot along the edges of her skin. She’d felt the little trembling precursors of this feeling before. Late at night after a blurry dream, or perhaps after she’d watched one of the Quidditch teams come back sticky from practice. Maybe, possibly, even when she’d walk into the Heads common room and catch Malfoy lounging on the couch reading a book. But she would never have acted on it, too much fear and insecurity clouding her acceptance of the changes happening to her body.

Why had she ever been afraid of sex? Why had she ever thought she didn’t want these incredible feelings whirling through her body? The hot, sliding, gliding sensation of Draco’s erection against her aching flesh was ecstasy. The feel of his skin against hers, around her, in her, had her marveling that she waited so long to experience something so amazing.

She was panting, gasping, listening to the grunting sounds Draco was making as he thrust in and out of her, her back arching each time he slammed into the pleasure point that made her eyes sparkle. But then one of the hands on her breasts slid down her body to play with the little nub of nerves at the center of her thighs.

And she was screaming, feeling surrounded by him, his skin, his hands, his breath on her back, his cock, oh Merlin, his cock sliding in and out, so hard, so fast, and she was shattering right into his arms.

She would have wobbled then, if Draco hadn’t been holding her up. He let out a low chuckle against her back, and said, “Not yet, you don’t.”

And then he was pulling her backwards, sitting so that she was falling into his lap, his cock pushed up deep inside of her, and she was dazed from her orgasm, wondering how there could possibly be more.

He started moving her very slowly, as she came back to herself, feeling her body lifting and falling, impaling herself on him new every time.

She sighed. He felt so good. His hands came up again to cup her breasts, his mouth sucking on the skin of her shoulder. She let her head fall back against him, her mind a haze of pleasure.

But then she turned to him and said, “No, I want to face you. I need to kiss you.”

He didn’t argue, just let her turn herself around, her legs straddling him as she sat on his cock, putting him back inside of her. She moaned, loving the feeling of him beneath her hands, his body curving beneath hers. And the sight of them joined together making her insides clench.

She leaned down to take his mouth with hers, and sighed again, into his mouth. This was perfection. She slid up a little bit and then slid back down onto him, and they both moaned.

With her legs and her hips, she rocked up and down on him, sliding along his member, while his hands gripped on the cheeks of her arse, guiding her as she rode him.

She nibbled at his lips, and it wasn’t long at all before she felt that fire inside of her reaching that breaking point. But this time she was determined Draco would fall with her. She arched her body into his, rocking her hips, sliding them sinuously down. She let his lips drop from hers, as she leaned back, offering him the sight of her breasts bouncing with her movement. And knowing how her words affected him, she shouted, “Draco! Yes, yes! Fuck, yes!” punctuating each word with a slam of her hips.

With a final thrust, his hands slammed her body into him, holding her still as he released into her wetness, groaning her name, and feeling her fluttering walls squeezing him as she flew high on her own orgasm.

She was breathing hard and gasping as she fell forward into his sweaty neck.

Still buried deep inside her, he leaned up against the wall of their tiny prison cell. They took a few minutes to catch their breath, both minds muddy with feelings of contentment and satisfaction.

When Draco’s cock twitched, Hermione’s still very sensitive passage quivered, and she moaned.

“I feel like the recovery periods are getting shorter. At this rate, you’ll just have to be permanently inside me.”

“Shit, Granger, don’t say things like that. My libido will think it’s capable of miracles.”

“Some Sex God you are.”

“So you admit I’m a Sex God?”

“Hmm, how about you convince me, then?”

“I—yeah, okay.”

But that was when they heard the voices outside of their room and reality came suddenly crashing down on them. They scrambled off of the bed, Draco quickly vanishing the recent evidence of their activities. Stumbling around trying to find their clothes, they had just dressed themselves when the door to their cell slammed open.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” exclaimed a voice they both recognized as Headmistress McGonagall. “We’ve found them!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re certain you don’t remember anything further about the curse that was cast upon you? Perhaps more about the specific color or part of a phrase?”

Draco and Hermione both shook their heads as their Headmistress dutifully asked the question once more, though the answer had been the same each time she’d asked it before. They were sitting on separate beds in the hospital wing speaking with McGonagall and the two Aurors who had accompanied her during the rescue mission. There was little they could tell them about the abduction, the cursing, or their kidnappers, but until their health was cleared they were restricted from moving about Hogwarts.

Madam Pomfrey was silently checking them with her wand for the third time, shaking her head and clearly frustrated at the lack of solutions.

Other than the brief description of symptoms that Hermione privately and vaguely mentioned to Madam Pomfrey, to which she responded with a frown and a short, “I see,” there were no further clues as to the type of curse placed on them or the purpose the kidnappers had in placing it.

Draco was still maintaining that he didn’t have any symptoms and explained his current theory that only Hermione had a real curse placed on her and his curse had actually been a decoy.

The Aurors exchanged glances while Draco explained this, but they didn’t make any remarks, turning their attention back to the boy who was just short of hovering protectively over the girl. More than once, they’d observed the concerned looks the young man sent towards the girl, and they hid their surprise at what seemed to be an emotional attachment between the last scion of the house of Malfoy and the Muggleborn war-heroine. It was clear to them that something was amiss, but it was equally clear that the resources here at Hogwarts were not going to be enough to solve the case.

After listening to the two students relay their brief story once more, the Aurors walked outside the room to confer with the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey.

Once they’d all exited, Draco turned immediately to Hermione, concern evident on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered automatically, her eyes on the door. Then her brow furrowed and she added quietly, looking at him, “No, actually, but I’m okay for now.”

“So you’re not feeling—” Draco trailed off, uncertain how to phrase his question, knowing there might be someone walking around the corner at any moment.

She shook her head. “Actually, I’m not. If anything, I’m feeling more than a little irritable at everyone’s complete lack of ability to determine what happened to us and who took us. I would have expected more answers from professional Aurors.”

Draco just looked at her, almost amused.

“I mean, really,” she continued, “it turns out we were on Hogwarts grounds the whole time, and it took them over 24 hours to find us? Did they send us the two biggest fuck-ups in the department, or something?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot straight up at the foul language and the uncharacteristically rude sentiments. Laughing, he said, just low enough for her to hear, “Careful, you know what that kind of language does to me.”

She blinked, his remark clearly interrupting her next observation on the shortcomings of the Aurors assigned to their case. Their eyes caught and held. She could almost instantaneously feel her pupils dilating as that trademark smirk of his sent hot streaks up the back of her neck. She remembered, rather vividly, just exactly what that kind of language made him feel. And what he then made _her_ feel. She shivered, her sudden anger just as suddenly forgotten.

But before she could respond, McGonagall and Pomfrey came back in, breaking the sudden tension in the room.

“Are we free to go now?” Hermione asked, her abrupt tone nearly impolite.

Draco wondered if her question was an indication that she was hoping they could get back to the privacy of their Head dorms as soon as possible. He was very open to that particular idea.

Ignoring the question, the Headmistress looked over her countenance. “Are you quite all right, Ms. Granger? You are looking very flushed.”

The sound of a clearing throat from Pomfrey served as a reminder to McGonagall about Hermione’s symptoms. “Oh, yes, of course. Well, perhaps you should lie down quietly for a bit, Ms. Granger. We will all be here for a while longer. The Aurors have gone to retrieve a curse-breaker.”

Hermione’s frustrated sigh would have almost made Draco laugh if he wasn’t so concerned that the curse Hermione was still under was going to begin causing her significant discomfort and even pain in a very short period of time.

Perhaps interpreting the looks he was sending to her, Pomfrey offered Hermione the chance to sit alone in a private room until the curse-breaker arrived.

Hermione was quick to decline. “No! No, I’d rather stay here with Dr—with Malfoy.”

McGonagall and Pomfrey looked less than pleased, and decidedly uncomfortable, at what her words seemed to imply.

Their eyes flicked back and forth between the two students, clearly reluctant to further the conversation. “Yes, well,” was all McGonagall could say, and Hermione flushed just a tiny bit further.

Frankly, Draco thought she should have availed herself of a little privacy if she could get it. But it still pleased him to have her nearby. He wanted to smile at her, but thought if he did so that he would alarm the two already discomfited adults in the room. Still, it was more of a struggle than it ought to have been.

Despite their predicament, he was having a very hard time not smiling at Hermione. They were alive, they were rescued, they had a curse-breaker coming to make sure everything was okay, and he’d just had the best damn cursed 24 hours of his life! He was really feeling rather good, and he would be feeling much better once Hermione was fixed up and he could set to making her feel particularly good, also.

His good mood plummeted immediately, however, when a Weasley walked in the door.

“Bill!” Hermione shouted, both surprised and pleased to see him.

The fierce, scarred eldest of the Weasley brood filled the doorway, an imposing figure, prompting a scowl on Draco’s face. “Hermione,” he said, by way of greeting. “Malfoy,” he added, a noticeable degree cooler.

As she did with all of the Weasleys, Hermione went to give Bill a hug, an action that caused immediate consternation from Minerva and Poppy. They watched with concern as his arms came around her waist and held her close. Then she pulled back to look at him, her face still quite flush, and they were quick to guide her to sit back down.

“No hug from you, Malfoy?” Bill teased. He sniffed at the air, ever so slightly, and the look he gave Draco would have seemed cold if his eyes weren’t brimming with amusement. Draco just scowled harder. Bloody Weasleys.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmistress began. “Hogwarts is pleased to have such a capable curse-breaker as yourself here to help us with this predicament. You have been filled in on the situation already?”

“Yes, Professor,” Bill acknowledged with a short incline of his head.

From her position on the edge of her assigned bed, Hermione flushed again, her embarrassment evident at having such a private problem made known to so many people. Her discomfort had Draco’s eyes narrowing further at the tall man with the tell-tale Weasley coloring.

“Well, is there any assistance we can offer to you while you examine the students?”

There was a moment of silence as Bill silently regarded first Hermione’s flushed face, then Draco’s scowling mien, then Hermione again. While he looked at Hermione, Hermione looked at the floor, and Draco glared daggers at Bill. “It appears that I will be needing a…private room, to conduct my investigation.”

“Of course, Madam Pomfrey will make one available to you.”

“I’ll go first,” Draco volunteered, an irrational distrust of the red-headed man making the idea of Hermione alone with him in a room completely unpalatable.

Bill waved off the suggestion. When he spoke, he looked at McGonagall rather than Draco, “Hermione is the only one claiming symptoms at the moment, so that’s what I need to examine first. If I find evidence of the type of curse, then I will know better what to examine Draco for.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she answered, primly. “Go ahead, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger will join you.”

Draco tried to prevent the glare on his face as they left the room, but obviously he didn’t succeed, as Minerva gave him an exasperated sigh, interrupting the expression he had aimed at the doorway they left from. “Really, Mr. Malfoy, it must be done. You’d do well to just sit quietly and wait your turn.”

“You don’t understand,” he protested through gritted teeth, wondering why he couldn’t just pretend like nothing was wrong. “Her—Granger is not well. He might—something could happen to her. We should be there together.”

“Now, now,” and she had the nerve to pat his extremely tense shoulder, “I think we understand better than you know. I’m sure Mr. Weasley will take care of Hermione admirably.”

The notion caused a growling sound to come from Draco’s throat. He hated the idea of the two of them in there alone, with Hermione in her vulnerable state. He didn’t seem to remember or care that this particular Weasley had a child as well as a wife, who was Veela no less. He certainly had no reason to take advantage of a school-age student under a curse.

But having her gone and not knowing what was happening to her was causing a pressured panicky feeling in his chest. He kept his eyes trained on the door, his fists clenched in his lap, particularly when he heard some loud thumping sounds coming from the small room.

He quickly looked over at the two women sitting nearby, and they gave him short, patient smiles. He just scowled at them and returned to staring at the door as if he could see through it. His fingers twitched as he missed his wand in his hand. Though their wands had been found in their Head Dorms and examined for tampering, they hadn’t been returned, waiting until Draco and Hermione could be similarly cleared.

The door finally opened and Bill walked out first, whistling. The tosser. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Hermione came out walking a little unsteadily, her face flushed and her expression a bit dazed.

Her eyes connected with Draco’s and he hurriedly went to her, placing his hands on her shoulders to look into her face. “Are you okay?! What happened?!”

He didn’t even give her time to answer. Draco’s blood seemed fit to boil over the top of his head. He turned to shout at Weasley, “What did you do to her, you ridiculous excuse for a wizard?! I will sue you! I will see that whatever pitiful things your family still owns are stripped from you, burned, and dumped on the graves of your ancestors!”

There were exclamations of shock and reprimand from the Headmistress and the Nurse. Hermione said a soft, chastising, “Draco!” And Bill Weasley just threw his head back and laughed, ignoring the questions from the women who wanted to know about the curse and what had been done.

“I’ve removed the curse, you little idiot. It took quite a bit of energy out of the both of us, though.” He winked at Hermione, who appeared to blush, incensing Draco even further.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Bill continued, ignoring the fierceness on Draco’s face. “And I’ll be doing the same for you, whenever you’re ready to step into my office.”

“I wasn’t cursed, Weasley. I don’t need your curse-breaking.” Draco felt like spitting the words at him, but barely remembered in time that he needed to be on his best behavior so that he could get back to the Head Dorms and take care of Hermione, who certainly looked tired.

“Oh, I think you do!” Bill responded gaily, motioning towards the door for Draco to precede him into the little examining room.

Knowing what he would see on the faces of the women around him, he didn’t even bother looking as he stomped into the little office. He didn’t look at Bill, either, who shut the door behind him and came around to sit in the one chair in the room.

“So, Malfoy. Just you and me here. No observers, no witnesses.” Bill let that statement hang in the air, his tone ambiguous.

Draco scowled. “You wouldn’t dare, Weasley. The Malfoy family name may have less pull than it used to, but we are not without resources. If you ruin a single hair on my head, your entire family will be ruined.”

Bill just laughed again. “So touchy, Malfoy. I have no intention of harming you.”

Draco just stood there in silence. The Weasley didn’t seem inclined to examine him in any way, his wand was just being held loosely in his hand.

When the silence stretched on, Bill spoke again. “So tell me what happened between you and Granger in that cell.” He corrected himself instantly, “Sorry, you and Hermione.”

Hearing him say her first name so familiarly made him irrationally furious.

Bill laughed again. “Yup, there it is.” He seemed to be speaking to himself.

Draco responded with as much frigidness as he could muster. “What happened between _Granger_ and I, is between the two of us.”

“Really?” Bill raised one eyebrow. “That’s not the impression I got from the story she told me.”

He was seeing red now and was on the verge of rushing at Bill, to do what, he didn’t know. He didn’t have a wand, and he was no match for one-on-one combat with the larger battle-hardened werewolf.

Bill’s wand had waved quickly, though, and Draco found himself in a body bind, held upright. Bill was laughing again. “Malfoy, this afternoon will provide me endless hours of entertainment just remembering it. It’s a shame all my work is confidential and I won’t be able to share it with anyone.” With another chuckle, and even a vague wiping at his eyes as if there were tears of laughter there, he waved his wand again. This time he settled into a professional stance indicating he was about to perform a complicated spell.

“Come now, Malfoy, let’s free you from this curse, and let your delightful personality back out again.”

Draco didn’t have time to wonder what he meant by that. He was hit first with a blinding light. At the same time, he felt a pulling and tugging sensation from deep inside of his torso. As if his heart or his stomach or his spine were being ripped out through his sternum. It didn’t hurt, but the discomfort was high, and he was breathing hard, his vision spinning.

He didn’t know how long it lasted, but it couldn’t have been too long before he was staring once again at the redhead’s irritating grin.

Bill released the body bind, and Draco immediately tipped over, not being prepared to balance his weight on his own feet. Fortunately, Weasley was prepared and he caught him. Draco was overcome with repulsion at being touched by a Weasley, and tried sending him a look of superiority and disgust. Instead his eyes rolled back in his head as the room spun once more.

“That’s right, Malfoy. Give it a minute before you try to reorient.”

Draco found himself sitting in the chair, with Wealsey shining a _Lumos_ into his eyes. He blinked uncomfortably, swatting ineffectually at the wand that was blinding him.

“All right, you’re clear, Malfoy. How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit with a ton of bloody bricks.” His voice felt a little rusty and his throat was dry. It was only then he realized he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for probably at least 24 hours. Plus, he’d exerted himself quite a bit, physically speaking. He was absolutely starving. He wondered if there’d be food soon.

He must have said the last thing out loud, because Bill gave him a sympathetic nod and said he’d make sure food was arranged as soon as possible for the both of them.

Oh, that’s right. Hermione was still waiting outside. For the first time in the last day, Draco was a little leery about seeing the Head Girl. Surely everything would be terribly awkward, and the embarrassment of having to reunite in front of everyone was incredibly daunting.

But the door was opened, and he was stumbling out into the bright room. He didn’t hear the clamor from the women who bombarded Bill with questions again about the curse and its intent. He was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of familiar-smelling curls, and a pair of too-familiar arms settled around him. He took only the briefest of seconds to bring his arms up around her waist and return the hug when he felt self-conscious about the others in the room and he stiffened. The Aurors had returned and it looked like there were a couple of other professors in the ward. He lowered his arms, and didn’t meet Hermione’s eyes as she told him she was glad he was okay.

He didn’t know what to say, and he felt out of place standing there so close to her in front of everyone. So he ignored everything making him uncomfortable, and said what he’d been thinking about in the room right before exiting. “I’m famished, do you suppose I could get something to eat?”

 

**xoxoxoxo**

 

It was several hours later and Draco was lying in his bed with the lights off, staring up at the ceiling.

They’d gotten a meal, quite a hearty one, as the house-elves were so pleased to see the Head Boy and Girl returned safe and sound that they’d provided several courses of wonderful, nutritious, health-restoring food. Draco spent most of the meal trying not to look Hermione in the eye and ignoring her worried looks.

When she started to flag at the table, though, he looked over at her, alarmed. Was there a side-effect of the curse? Did Weasley miss something? But no, she was just exhausted, as was he, actually. And they were both sent off to bed.

They parted ways in the Common Room of their Heads Dorm, an awkward “Goodnight” exchanged between the two of them.

Draco thought he might have napped on and off, but he couldn’t be sure. For the last hour or two he’d definitely been wide awake. His memories of the last day were crystal clear. If he let himself, he could remember the feel and taste of her skin, the smell of their bodies enjoying each other. He could hear, like the ghost of an echo, her moans in his ear.

He was trying to ignore it. The whole situation was impossibly complicated. They were Heads together, and they had formed a friendship this last year, and in the privacy of his own room he could admit that he’d entertained brief, impossible fantasies of the two of them together. But it could never work in real life. Those hours alone together in that cell were like a slice out of another reality.

He cringed, remembering the things he’d said, the way he’d acted. It had to have been part of that mysterious spell. But Hermione had seemed to like it quite a lot. Quite a bit more than just “a lot,” actually. He quickly veered his mind away from heading back to that dark room. It was just her own response to the spell. He tried reminding himself that she didn’t really care for him that way, they were both just helpless to fight against the curse.

The words didn’t ring true, though. No matter how many times he tried saying them, in his head or out loud, he was having trouble believing it. He was having trouble concentrating on the fact that Hermione Granger was only a few doors away and he was in here, and that’s how it ought to be.

He was asserting it to himself for the thousandth time when he heard a soft, rapping at his door.

His heartbeat shot straight up into his throat. The kidnappers? No, of course not.

The soft, gentle rapping sounded again.

It could only be one other person. And he was almost sure he’d rather face the kidnappers.

He was at the door, standing in front of it, without even remembering getting off of the bed. But he didn’t open it. He just stared at the door, wondering what he was feeling, why part of him wanted to bolt it closed and part of him wanted to fling it wide open. He hated the feelings of uncertainty.

But then he heard her whisper, “Draco? Are you up?”

And he couldn’t resist the voice. He turned the knob and opened it to see her standing there in her nightgown. He’d seen it before, when she’d curl up on the couch in the common room, a book in her lap, her legs tucked beneath her. But he’d never looked at her wearing the flimsy material and been able to imagine so accurately just what her naked skin looked like beneath it.

She looked hesitant, worried, and opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

He was instantly concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She shook her head, quickly. “I’m fine. Well, not exactly fine. I mean, there’s nothing wrong, but—” and her voice stopped abruptly.

She took a deep breath, but he interrupted her. “Is it the curse?”

All of her air rushed out, and she admitted in a very small voice, “Yes.”

He was shocked at that, wondering if Weasley had gone wrong somewhere. “Should I take you to Pomfrey?”

But she just looked at him. “I’d rather—well, couldn’t I just stay with you?”

Draco’s mouth gaped open. He wasn’t sure he was understanding her properly, but there wasn’t anything else she could mean.

“With me?” he repeated, unsure.

Her gaze was on the floor. “Yes, I mean, for right now. I’ll go see Pomfrey in the morning, I just—I thought maybe you could help me.”

His heart was pounding and racing in his chest. His mind was a confusion of thoughts and feelings. He didn’t know what the right and wrong reaction in this situation was. He was desperate to feel her again, even just to hold her against his side. But he knew it had to be wrong to take advantage of her while she was still victim to that blasted curse.

But he couldn’t tell her no, so he just stepped back from the door. She came in cautiously and stared at him, at his strange non-reaction to her words. Her eyes were big and bright as she closed the door behind her.

This didn’t seem like the same Draco that cared for her so gently in that tiny cell. But then his mouth was on hers, and his arms were around her, and she was being devoured again as he carried her to the bed. She sighed in contentment as her body began tightening in anticipation. He felt exactly the same.

 

**xoxoxoxo**

 

The next morning, she woke in his bed, warm and naked. The bright sunlight filtering through the curtains told her it was well past the normal time students needed to be awake and to classes. They’d been given a day off to recover from their ordeal, but Hermione had not planned to take it.

Still, as she stretched under Draco’s divinely soft covers, she was thankful that there was no one requiring her to be anywhere. She rather thought she could lay here all morning.

She sleepily reached out trying to find Draco’s body, hazy images of lying about the bed all morning drifting in and out of her consciousness.

Her hand reached a firm chest, and there was an instant thrill that shot straight down her body and tingled in her thighs. She almost moaned, marveling at how quickly she responded to the slightest touch.

She blinked a couple of times to get the sleep out of her eyes, and saw Draco staring down at her. His expression was unreadable. His eyes were dilated, so he was not unmoved by the presence of her body in his bed. But she didn’t understand the guarded look he was wearing.

She suddenly registered that the skin beneath her hand was fully clothed. Draco was lying on top of the covers, fully dressed for the day, staring down at her. He must have been watching her sleep.

She was suddenly, irrationally, embarrassed. What had seemed like a driving, insatiable need in the middle of the night, now seemed like an immature impulse.

“How do you feel?” were his first words. She was the tiniest bit disappointed that they weren’t softer, kinder words. But they were about her welfare, and she dismissed the fear that seemed to be building in the back of her mind.

“I—fine. Good, actually.” Not as good as last night, but she didn’t feel that voicing that opinion was the wisest course of action. Draco’s full dress indicated that he didn’t seem amenable to stripping everything off and making her feel good again.

Her own thoughts shocked her. Since when was she so obsessed with sex?

The answer came in a kaleidoscope of images of the last two days. The strongest being that moment the night before when he had finally thrust into her, and they’d both sighed. It had been the most wonderful, warm feeling, as if everything in the world had suddenly settled right. And when he’d taken her over the very top, she’d breathed, “Ohhh!” as the world spun and they were falling together.

But none of these misty images seemed to be on Draco’s mind this morning, as he told her, “You need to see Pomfrey today.”

She nodded, knowing it was important, but uselessly wishing he was less inclined to kick her out of his bed and get her sex-oriented curse removed. But that was just silly. Of course, she had to get it taken care of.

She dressed quickly, trying not to look to see if Draco’s eyes were on her, and then removed off to her room where she could dress for the day.

Draco was waiting for her when she came out a decorous Hogwarts Head Girl again. Her heart beat just a little too hard when she saw him leaning casually, his hands in his pockets, his hair hanging casually over his eyes. He looked up and smiled, just a little smile, as if he’d forgotten that Malfoys didn’t smile unless it was at someone else’s misfortunate. She couldn’t help smiling back.

The walk to the medical wing was silent. Hermione was occupied with trying not to think of how many nooks they passed that she could have yanked Draco into so she could rip off his clothes. Draco was occupied with trying to tell himself that he absolutely did not want to hold her hand.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t seem surprised to see the two Heads show up in her ward, and quickly got out her wand to examine them. Weasley had left strict instructions behind on what to look for, how to handle any unexpected complications, and when to contact him.

She just shook her head at them both, and said that they were both completely clear. And perhaps they just needed to have a rest and take their minds off of their recent situation.

Without any prompting, she told them that the Aurors were looking into a small group of disaffected wizards who were claiming responsibility for the kidnapping of the Head Boy and Head Girl. It appeared they were trying to make a political statement and were campaigning for sentencing against all of the Malfoys for war crimes. There was some confusion about what the kidnapping was supposed to have shown, but for now they were only releasing to the press that the two students were both alive and well, and no worse for the ordeal.

At that, Hermione looked at Draco, feeling a surprising fission of discontent stirring down her spine at the casual dismissal of their circumstances. She knew the papers must be told something, but she didn’t think “alive and well, and no worse” accurately summed up their experience. Draco just blinked at Pomfrey, as if bored, and didn’t acknowledge the news.

“I guess I’d better go to class then,” he said, woodenly, and without another word, he left Hermione standing there in the medical ward. She gaped after him, not knowing why she felt so out of sorts.

Pomfrey just looked at her sympathetically and tut-tutted over her. When Hermione remained unmoving, Pomfrey suggested she just have herself a bit of a lie-down, and Hermione gratefully accepted.

They had many of the same classes, she and Draco. She felt awkward thinking of showing up into the classes with him acting as he was. She didn’t know what was happening between them. Pomfrey said there were no remnants of the curse, but she knew for a fact what the curse felt like working on her, and there was no denying she felt some of those same feelings.

She had only been musing along these lines for a few minutes, trying to make sense of what seemed to be a most puzzling situation, when the Headmistress came into the room.

“Ms. Granger,” she called. “If you’d join me in my office, please, I’d like to speak with you.”

Hermione jumped up at that, feeling suddenly alert and concerned.

Her feelings must have shown, because Minerva’s voice became warmer. “That is, if you are feeling quite up to it, Hermione. We can talk later, if you’d rather.”

But Hermione was already gathering her things, and she followed McGonagall to her office.

Once seated, the prim matron stared down at her student, unsure of where to begin.

“Professor?” Hermione queried, unnerved by the sudden silence.

“Ms. Granger,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “Madam Pomfrey tells me that you have a clean bill of health.”

“Er, yes,” Hermione confirmed.

“We are all very glad that you were not harmed during that terrible kidnapping. I’m truly sorry that our security here at Hogwarts somehow allowed for the event to happen at all. You can be assured we are doing everything we can to make sure it never happens again, to you or any other students.”

“Of course.” Hermione knew Minerva was only stating the obvious.

“We—I am concerned, however, that though you have not taken any apparent harm from your experience, that there may be other issues that you will need to cope with as a result of these last two days.”

A little embarrassed, she answered quickly, “I’m fine, really.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I just thought perhaps you might want to talk about what had happened?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione denied, “I don’t think I will need that.”

Minerva sighed, looking around the room as if needing some ideas or support. The portraits of all the Headmasters seemed conspicuously absent.

“Ms. Granger, though I appreciate that your…experiences…were very private, I do believe it is best that we find someone for you to talk with.” She raised her hand to forestall any protests. “No, it doesn’t have to be me. But the curse and its outcome, surely had some very confusing and complicated results both on your…biological health, as well as your psychological health, and I think it’s imperative that you have regular sessions with a trusted advisor so you can explore any concerns that may arise.” Again, she prevented Hermione from speaking. “I will be making the same recommendation to Mr. Malfoy.”

That gave Hermione pause. “I don’t understand. Draco didn’t seem affected by the curse at all.”

Minerva sighed, unsure if she should reveal so much without first speaking with the young man in question. But if all the unspoken words surrounding these two were true, it would do more harm than good to prevent her from hearing the truth.

She patiently started with a leading question. “Ms. Granger, did you happen to notice anything unusual about Draco during your time in the cell?”

Hermione frowned at that. “We were kidnapped, cursed, and placed in a cell. It was all unusual.”

McGonagall just nodded, as if expecting that answer. “But think back on your interaction with Draco. Was there anything different about him? The way he acted? Perhaps the way he talked?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as her eyes seemed to look backwards to the two days before and their time in that tiny room. He’d been unusually concerned about her welfare. She thought that was only reasonable, considering the potentially dangerous situation they were in.

He’d been kind, patient, sweet.

She suddenly remembered his face when she’d been crying. The way he’d held her and whispered to her, as if her pain was somehow hurting him.

Her heart thumped as she recalled the way his lips had caressed her so gently. The way he’d quietly assured her pleasure, denying his own until she took matters into her own hand—quite literally.

She remembered even how he’d tried to convince them both to stop, in case it was going to result in some lasting harm. How he’d asked her repeatedly to be sure, before he finally allowed them to have what they both wanted.

She’d been sure. She was still sure. Even now, with the curse supposedly removed entirely from her body, she didn’t think she had felt this sure about anything or anyone before.

She shook her head at the Headmistress. “He was the perfect gentleman, Professor.” She started to blush a tiny bit, making it clear her words were embarrassing. “It was I—” she paused, her flush deepening. “I was the one who was acting very unlike myself.”

Minerva made no comment on her reddened face, politely trying to ignore her favorite student’s discomfort at her own admission. “Well, you were both affected differently. Your response, as you know, dealt with lifting … physical inhibitions.”

Hermione blushed even harder, trying not to wonder how much McGonagall knew about how uninhibited she had actually acted. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair beneath the weight of the gaze that was on her.

After a brief, awkward pause, McGonagall continued, “Mr. Malfoy’s response was an emotional one. His inhibitions were against emotional closeness. It was perhaps much less noticeable, but the curse opened a part of himself that he had kept closed off.” At Hermione’s blank expression, she added, “It no doubt manifested in less obvious ways.”

For a moment, Hermione didn’t understand what she meant. But then the thoughts she’d just had came flashing back, one right after the other. Draco holding her close, like a treasured possession. Draco’s gentle touches, his caring glances. Moments of fear and panic in his eyes.

_He’d been kind, patient, sweet._

Then she remembered his aloofness after they’d returned to Hogwarts. The unreadable gazes. The way she’d woken up to Draco already dressed and distant.

It had been the curse. Like her wanton responses to sexual stimulation, Draco had been reacting in a way far different from his normal self to the emotional stimulation of their forced closeness. It had all been a fabrication of the spell that had been placed on them.

She missed whatever McGonagall said next, because her heart was too busy breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)


	5. Chapter 5

When Draco returned to the Head Dorms late that evening, he was unsurprised to find Hermione waiting up for him. He’d been out late, avoiding the prefects who wouldn’t have taken points from him as the Head Boy, anyway, but not wanting to run into anybody.

After having an awkward discussion with the Headmistress, he’d been subjected to an even more awful and awkward discussion with Rubeus Hagrid. Why they thought Draco Malfoy would be comfortable speaking with that half-giant about anything at all, let alone his relationship with Hermione, he would never know.

Most of the time was spent with Draco just pretending not to listen to anything Hagrid was saying. He rather thought the therapy session was going the other way around, actually. Hagrid talked on and on about how nice of a girl Hermione was, as if Draco wasn’t fully aware of that. About how hard her situation as a war-heroine and a Muggleborn was. Again, as if Draco did not know those details better than almost anyone, having literally been present during her torture in his drawing room. When Hagrid postulated that the kidnapping of the Head Boy and Girl was really targeting the Malfoy family’s status in society, well, it wasn’t anything Draco hadn’t already considered.

But when he starting waxing poetic about a certain unnamed half-giantess, Draco very nearly hexed him just to get him to stop talking. He’d thought it would be vile and revolting, and desperately tried to tune him out. To his surprise, he found the sentiments almost sweet. He almost felt sympathy towards the professor as he spoke about the woman he cared for, the distance that separated them, and the circumstances that kept them apart.

Almost. But he was still glad when Hagrid wiped his eyes and moved on to another topic. Of course, then it wasn’t long before he wished Hagrid would go back to speaking about the Madame.

Draco felt something very uncomfortable in his chest as Hagrid talked about his own experience as a half-giant convicted of a crime that he didn’t commit and treated poorly by all of those around him. Draco remembered with no little shame, the way he’d spoken to and worked against Hagrid, even after Hagrid had become a professor, and even after he’d been acquitted of the previous accusations.

When he seemed to be winding down, Hagrid had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “In the end, boy, it doesn’t matter what all the others might think of ye. What matters is who ye know yerself to be. And if ye don’t like it, ye change it. And if ye make a friend, ye do what ye can to keep him. Or her, as the case might be. Decide what’s right for ye, and don’t let anyone, not even yerself, say otherwise.”

With that slightly confusing bit of advice, Hagrid had added, “This has sure been a nice conversation! I’ll be seein’ ye the next time.”

And Draco had gone out to wander the corridors for hours before heading back to the Head Dorms.

He’d found he’d had a surprisingly lot to think about. Hagrid’s words seemed to run through his head in a jumble. His chest felt tight and uncertain, and his restless legs kept him moving quietly all around the school.

But when he walked in to see her sitting there, he’d simultaneously felt a calm and a dread hit his heart.

There was no denying it. He felt something very strong for Hermione Granger. Somewhere in the quiet nights of studying and the casual competition of their classes and the companionship of sharing the same quarters, something he hesitated to name had grown between them. And when a curse had driven her into his arms, he’d no longer been able to deny it.

He had no idea what he was going to do about it. She’d always been friendly and kind, deliberately avoiding the awkwardness of their past. And she’d never shown the slightest inclination to be more than friends until a curse lowered all of her inhibitions and made her sex-crazy. And he’d been the only one there.

The thought that it could have been anyone else gutted him.

She smiled at him, tentatively, and moved over to make room for him on the couch.

It wasn’t uncommon, as they’d regularly studied together, and he almost bypassed her entirely and headed straight for his room. But those strings she pulled that seem to lead straight to his heart had his feet plodding over towards her, where he took his seat.

“I take it you’ve spoken to McGonagall?” she asked. Draco gave a short nod. He didn’t elaborate, so she offered, “I have my first session tomorrow with Madam Hooch.”

At Draco’s short laugh, she sighed, “Yes, I can’t imagine what we are going to have to talk about. I suppose she could teach me how to ride a broomstick.”

There was an awkward silence as Hermione realized her words seemed to contain a ridiculous double entendre.

But then they were both laughing, and the ice was broken as she gasped out, “Madam Hooch—teaching me—broomstick!”

And Draco was saying, “Hagrid was telling me about writing poetry!” And then they were both howling again, happy just to be enjoying a normal moment together like they’d had all year.

When the laughter died down, Hermione’s expression turned serious and she said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”                                            

“That my curse affected me in a way that made us both do things…we wouldn’t otherwise have done.”

Draco’s face went stony at that statement. “Don’t worry about it, Granger. We both enjoyed ourselves.”

She knew she’d taken the wrong tone and quickly tried to backtrack. Before Draco could make a move to leave, she grabbed his arm. “That’s not what I meant! I don’t—I don’t regret any of it.”

“Then there’s no need to apologize, Granger. We can both just—move on from here.” His heart hurt quite a bit, actually, saying those words, and he surreptitiously rubbed at his chest, wondering if he could get the ache to subside.

“I just—I thought—well,” she stammered. He looked at her, willing her to say what was on her mind.

“What if we moved on…together?” she finally asked.

He felt his breathing skip, as he wondered if she was saying what he actually thought she was saying.

But her next words dashed his hopes. “I mean, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just…we already know we’re good together. And I wouldn’t get in the way of your—”

“No,” he said.

“What?” She almost looked hurt. He might have noticed the tears that were welling in her eyes at his abrupt tone if he wasn’t trying to keep the ripping, tearing sensation in his chest from spilling over into his voice.

“No, Granger. I’m glad you’ve woken up to your sexuality and everything, but I’m not going to be your toy. Find someone else to play with.”

The sound of his door slamming coincided with the tears that spilled down her face, as she had the keenest sensation that she’d just ruined everything.

**xoxoxoxo**

She shouldn’t be here. Draco had been very clear about how he felt. But something wasn’t right.

It couldn’t have all been fabricated. Removing emotional inhibitions didn’t mean creating emotions that didn’t exist. He must have felt something for her, something real. Just like removing physical inhibitions didn’t mean creating physical impulses that didn’t already exist.

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that if she’d been in that room with anyone else, her reaction would not have been the same. It was because she’d quietly had those feelings building in her that her body had gotten inflamed at his nearness under the influence of the curse.

It had to be the same for him.

After coming back from her talk with McGonagall, she’d locked herself into her room and cried. She hadn’t wanted to put a silencing charm on, so she could hear him when he returned. But she also didn’t want the freedom of knowing no one could hear her, because she rather thought if once she started truly howling, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

An hour, then two had passed, with no sign of Draco, and her tears had dried on her cheeks. By the third hour she was pacing her room, telling herself she was ridiculous to have read so much into such a short curse-driven interlude.

By the fourth hour, she’d come up with a hazy, desperate plan. What teenage boy would say no to the offer of sex? And not just sex, but the possibility of mind-blowing sex like they seemed to have every time they came together, curse or no curse. She’d gone to him the night before, when apparently the curse was not even working on her, and he’d responded.

So she’d thought maybe they could have broached the topic of feelings after they’d gotten comfortable in a physical relationship. If Draco’s emotions were truly buried deep inside of him, then they would take a while to come out. She just had to be patient. Because she was convinced those feelings were there, they just had to be.

But he’d said no. He’d been adamant. He’d rejected her and slammed the door.

So there was no reason for her to be standing at his door in her nightgown again, in the middle of the night, hand poised for knocking.

But there had been something on his face. Something that looked like an echo of the hurt she was feeling, and after staring at her walls for hours telling herself she wouldn’t come again, here she was.

So she knocked. Just once. Quietly, timid. It occurred to her suddenly that maybe he was asleep already.

But then the door shot open, and an angry Draco Malfoy clad in just some satin pajama trousers was standing on the other side. She was momentarily distracted by his smooth chest and his bedroom light glinting off of his skin.

“I told you no, Granger. Go get a handle on it yourself. You can’t just go around knocking on a bloke’s door in the middle of the night, demanding sex.” It was ridiculous of him to sound so offended and his words irritated her.

“I’m not demanding sex, Malfoy, I came to…talk.” Her words were only partially a lie. She didn’t know why she came. Sex was certainly a motivator, but not even the main one by any means.

Draco sighed, and he pinched his brow. “Granger, I’m really just not up for this. Find someone else, I’m sure you’ve got a list a mile long of guys to choose from.”

She almost laughed at that. As if any of the boys in school had shown her much more than a passing interest, and even then only if her skirt had shrunk with an accidental _Reducto_. Instead, she responded to the much more important point. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“Granger,” he started, warningly.

“No, Malfoy, listen to me! I don’t want anyone else. Curse or no curse, I haven’t—I don’t—” She took a breath, aware that his eyes were focused on her. “I don’t feel like this for anyone else.”

He didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly. But she thought she could feel his resolve weakening.

“I’m glad it was you,” she whispered, her eyes big and bright trying to convey what she was feeling. “Draco, I’m glad it was you for my first time.”

There was silence and Hermione was beginning to wonder if she oughtn’t just to turn around. But then he said, “And your second and third time?”

The smile that lit up her face was brilliant as she responded with, “And the fourth and fifth, too.” She swallowed and then she admitted, “I think it was always you that I’d wanted. And the curse…it just showed it to me.”

He looked at her, the silence drawn out painfully. There was that something in his eyes that told her she wasn’t wrong about him, about the two of them.

He was battling himself. It seemed he finally won—or lost—and took a deep breath, slowly stepping back from the door, just like he had the night before. She walked in, and stood right in front of him.

He was still restraining himself. “I may be a Sex God, but I’m not a sex toy. This will not be just about sex.”

She smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes, her arms softly going around his neck. “Draco, what’s between the two of us could never be just about sex.”

**xoxoxoxo**

He shouldn’t have let her in. He knew when he opened the door that he was going to cave. That as long as she kept coming back he’d keep opening his door. So he’d resolved to send her away.

Then he’d seen her again, the light from the room spilling on to her open, honest face. And he wished things could be clear between them. Wished he knew how to express what he wanted and that she felt the same.

She smelled like her bathsoap, and it was hard to stand there barely a few feet from his bed and tell her he didn’t want her. He did want her, desperately. But he couldn’t settle for just some no-strings-attached romping after hours. He may have thought he was made for such things, but he’d never felt this way before. And he knew without a doubt he couldn’t bear to have her come and go at night and spend his days wondering if she actually cared anything about him.

But when she’d said she wanted him, only him, he wanted badly to believe it. When her arms came up around him, he was powerless to resist.

And when her lips whispered, “Let’s show each other” against his, he was already lost.

He kissed her like he’d wanted to do all day. From the moment he’d woken up to her naked body wrapped in his arms, he’d wanted to devour her. He almost didn’t remember why he’d stayed away.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, reveling in the feel of her instant response. Her tongue twined with his, sliding against his teeth, and he tugged on her lips trying to set off that sexy moan of hers. He loved the feel of her skin against his mouth, smooth and sweet, soft and so responsive. He trailed kisses down her neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin behind her ear, thrilling at the way she quivered under his mouth.

But she tugged on his hair, sending a tiny thrill down his back, trying to move his mouth back up to hers. As their mouths met once more, he fancied he could tell the difference between a kiss that was a result of the curse, and one that was real.

Had it felt like this? There in that tiny cell, isolated and with their hormones raging. Had it felt so huge and encompassing? So right? Like all the pieces of a very complex puzzle had just clicked into place.

He lifted her, and her legs wrapped around him willingly as he carried them over to the bed. His hands came up under her thighs, to hold her to him, but he couldn’t resist the dampness he could already feel under his fingertips. He stroked her lightly, and she moaned, breaking away from him. She said, breathlessly, “There’s nothing else like this. I can’t imagine anything else feeling this good.”

Then her mouth was back on his, fiercely trying to drink him in as they both tumbled onto the bed. She landed beneath him, and the excitement of her body moving under him caused him to shake. It was the same as the first time. Only now he knew exactly what it would feel like to have her most intimate parts wrapped around him. Now he knew what it sounded like to have her sobbing his name.

He was determined to hear it again.

He trailed his hands up her body, her skin heating as his fingers passed over them. He whispered a spell, and her nightgown fell apart in his hands, baring her to him once again.

He looked for just a moment, and she watched him, as his eyes traced over the dewy skin of her breasts. Her nipples seemed to perk up under his gaze. She wanted to ask him to touch her, like she’d asked in that room, but the words clogged up in her throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, quietly, his fingertips tracing down the side of her body. The sight of her naked before him aroused him almost painfully, his member jutting up against her thighs. He was the only one who had ever seen her like this. He was the only one who could make her feel like this. He was driven by the need to brand himself on her skin.

One long finger came up over the tip of her breast, pausing at the highest peak. Then it quickly trailed down the center of her body, as he marveled at the glow of her skin.

When he got to her belly, he couldn’t seem to restrain himself any longer. He leaned over and pressed soft, wet kisses to her skin, and her body shook at the feel of him so close to the part of her that was aching.

With his open mouth he kissed at her exposed flesh, his tongue tracing designs and leaving behind wetness. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. He felt her gentle tugs in his hair, trying to move him back up her body, but he resisted, moving inexorably downwards.

He wanted to feel her on his tongue again. He wanted to taste her desire for him, and know it was real.

By the time he reached the curls at the apex of her thighs, she was already squirming and panting. “D-Draco.”

He smiled against her skin, wondering if she could feel it. “Yes? Did you want something?”

“More,” she whispered, already losing control of her senses. “Draco, more, please.”

“More of what?” he asked, his clever fingers already tracing her opening, sliding around her swollen nether lips, teasing.

She whimpered, her back arching to try to get closer to him. “You,” she gasped, moaning suddenly as one of his fingers started to penetrate her. “I need you.”

Her words enflamed him, and he thrust his finger deep inside her. But when the keening sound she made wasn’t enough for him, he pulled her legs further apart, and lifted her until he could reach her with his mouth.

He slowly ran the tip of his tongue from her opening, up and up, until his mouth wrapped around the swollen bud. She cried out, back arching again, and as her hips lifted, he stabbed his tongue deep inside her. He kissed her with his mouth open, his lips nibbling hers, devouring her from the inside out like he’d devoured her mouth earlier. She writhed against him, taking his tongue as deep as she could, his breath blowing against her sensitive skin causing her to shudder.

“Draco, wait,” she stopped him, her hands frantic on his hair. It took him a moment, so absorbed was he in the silken sweet taste of her, to notice she was pulling on him again.

She tugged on his hair and on his shoulders, trying to bring him further up her body. This time he came at her bidding, unwilling and almost unable to go against her desires. He nuzzled at her satiny skin as he settled his long body firmly against hers, his fingertips dragging their way up her sides, imprinting the feel of his hands on her skin everywhere he could reach.

“It needs to be now,” she gasped against his neck. “I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.”

The urgency reflected in her voice and in her grasping hands as she wriggled to position herself against him, pleased him, made him feel powerful, and seemed to fill the lonely, empty cracks in his soul that had seemed like huge canyons only a few hours ago. She needed him. But more, she wanted him. And he knew that she was right. Next time he would take longer exploring her lovely, responsive body, and give her plenty of time to explore his. But right now he had to be inside of her.

He reached to slide his hands up her thighs, moving them so he could rest against her center. Her slim ankles immediately came up to lock around him, her wetness calling out to him.

The head of his throbbing length slipped into her with ease, and they both moaned, reveling in the sensation of being linked. He wasn’t even thrusting, and he could already feel himself sinking into her warmth. She was moaning and writhing beneath him, the feel of him entering her so slowly shorting out all the circuits in her brain.

This was what he wanted. This single, indescribable feeling was what he wanted most in the whole world. He wanted Hermione Granger to belong to him. He wanted to be the only one who ever knew what it felt like to be inside this delectable body. He wanted to hear her moan and scream his name every day in a way that could belong to no one else.

He started to move, slowly at first, as he kissed his way along her collarbone to fuse his mouth to her neck. Her head was thrown back, her hands clutching him to her, the way her lower wet muscles were clinging to his hardness.

With every thrust, he clipped that sensitive spot deep inside her that was making her see sparks and gasp his name, willing his name to be branded into her body. This feeling he felt for her was so strong, so overwhelming, he couldn’t imagine putting it back into the box it came from. There was a part of his heart that had been cracked open by that curse, and it was looking more and more likely that he’d never be able to close it back up again.

He didn’t think he’d be able to live if she didn’t feel the same. He moved faster, thrusting, and she was screaming now, her teeth biting into his shoulder as she felt the orgasm overtaking her. And still he kept on, until they were both shattering and shuddering and the explosion was burning them both from the inside out.

She whispered his name on a sigh as she came down from her high, her limbs falling pliantly around him. “Mmmm, I love this feeling.”

Her words struck something inside of him. His arms were still wrapped tightly around her. He was still buried deep in her body. And those new feelings were swirling and fighting to get out. Fighting to be acknowledged. Fighting to be named.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, shocking them both.

He hadn’t meant to say it. Not then, possibly not ever, and certainly not out loud. But it could not be contained.

Slowly, he looked up into her eyes, and saw the sheen of unshed tears there. Still concerned that the words were unwelcome, he opened his mouth to say something else, anything else to chase away the echo of the words in the air, but her hand on his lips stopped him. Her lips quirked into a smile, and she said, with a broken voice, “Oh, thank Merlin. I thought it was just me.”

He was still for a moment, confused, uncomprehending.

She giggled at his expression pulling his head down to hers for a simple kiss. His lips responded to the gentle caress automatically.

“I thought it was only me,” she repeated, as she pulled back to look at him. “And being in love with Draco Malfoy, knowing he could never feel that way for me, was…it was breaking my heart.” The tears spilled over, then, but Draco wiped them away, feeling them soak into his skin like a balm to his soul. He looked at her in wonder, marveling that a curse could produce such opposite results from its intentions.

“I love you, Hermione Granger.” The words came out infinitely easier the second time. What was this incredible feeling that came with knowing the one you loved returned your affections? He thought he could shout with it.

She smiled up at him, her eyes still bright, wrapping her arms about his neck again, and whispered, almost reverently, “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

He cleared his throat and looked at her pointedly.

She sighed. And then laughed. And then added, “Slytherin Sex God.”

“Hmmm, maybe I should convince you, again.” And he flexed himself to emphasize his point.

She panted at the feel of him hardening again inside of her. “I—yeah, okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S&R Movement: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is complete, and was originally posted on H&V. 
> 
> Special thanks to River in Egypt for some last minute alpha-work on the final chapters.


End file.
